


Scripted Fidelity

by Bleachcake, Lendra



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 51,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3605667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleachcake/pseuds/Bleachcake, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lendra/pseuds/Lendra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is no obstacle to rattle the foundation of fate, and when Robin awakes alone in a field, he can do little to shake the familiarity of it all. If all can be reversed and destiny rewritten, what will happen when Chrom isn't there to take his hand from the start?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for taking the time to read my first posted work! As I checked off, this is a joint piece between my fiancé and I! We are terribly fond of Robin and Chrom and there is so little for these boys in the fandom, we couldn't help but create something of our own. 
> 
> We hope this is to your liking and please keep in mind, two people are writing this so you may notice a slight difference in styles. As excruciating as our writing may be, I hope you all enjoy!

Sound was the first thing to come; muffled chirps and trills of various insects, louder than expected and almost unfamiliar in tone.

They were close; oddly close. Soft rustling, both from the legs of those little creatures clinging to long blades of grass and from the slightest breeze that swept overhead; those were the next things to register in the darkness. That darkness began to soften, lighten and become redder in hue.

Soft blackness cracked open to harsh light and the sound he heard now became an uncomfortable grunt from the back of his own throat. Yes, he was indeed waking somewhere. The question was where in god’s name it was.

With a stiffness to his movement, he rose from where he’d lain, feeling quite sore and terribly dazed before taking the time to really observe his surroundings. 

The expanse of the horizon was rich with thick patches of grass and wild flowers freckled about. The occasional overgrowth and an even more intermittent cluster of trees made up the majority of what he could observe before him until everything dissipated into the warm glow of the rising sun. 

Realistically speaking, the scenery evoked such a feeling of serenity, and yet he felt little else than unease. His surroundings were unfamiliar at best. What’s more , he couldn’t recall at all how he had ended up in such a placid location. His fingers pushed into his hair, furrowing his brows heavily as he did his best to properly recall the events that could have lead up to such circumstances. 

And yet, despite his efforts, everything was turning up entirely blank. 

The slightest bit of panic was beginning to pulsate through him, a level of anxiety settling into the notches of his spine and threatening to click its way up to the back of his mind. But he was nothing if not practical. Throwing himself into the haze of troubling uncertainty and worry would make the answers all the more difficult to find. Taking a moment to breathe, he began to pat himself down, observing the clothing he was wearing; checking for a satchel, a knapsack, a pouch, pockets, anything. Any possessions he had were few and far between, though he was not entirely without chattels. There were a few bundles of papers, a couple of knick-knacks, a pathetic amount of single notes and a torn piece of parchment that he’d only found after pulling off his small overcoat. 

Pressing his fingers to his temple, his white brows were guttering once more as he didn’t find a single morsel of food, nor a map to perhaps gather some semblance of locality. He only hoped the folded papers had more to tell him, gently unfolding them as they seemed somewhat fragile. 

At first, it appeared to be some sort of official document, the format foreign, though he could gather enough to know it was certifying something. 

 These were…naturalization papers? No, they were worded a bit differently…This was certainly just acknowledging the named individual was a citizen of the country Ylisse.

 The thumping inside his chest rose quickly, feeling anxiety and relief all in one as he realized the name on the page was his own. These were his documents. He was a resident of Ylisse.

So why did his very own birth country not conjure up more memories than it was now? He felt he knew the definition of the place, something akin to a textbook passage of it's history, but nothing like someone would know or feel of their own homeland. What had happened inside his head to leave him in such a blank state?

At the very least, he needn't worry about being in any trouble with authorities should he ever run into a situation of that nature…but as far as he could tell, civilization wasn't actually…a main issue. Rather, the lack of it was. 

Another soft grunt slipped through his lips as he stood, brushing away broken blades of dry grass and just the slightest hint of soil while the folded pages were gently tucked away once more. At the very least, he was in a rather lush area. If he were really that far from other people, he was certain he could survive at least a good two weeks or more on the land, that knowledge leaving him a bit more at ease. Priority one for now would be simply centering himself, discovering his cardinal directions, and perhaps finding a bit of water before getting too far.

It was probably best to find high ground if at the least to try and survey his surroundings, though he had been walking for nearly an hour, perhaps more if he was judging the position of the sun correctly and the land thus far had remained relatively flat. The sporadic appearance of a knoll or two did little to give him purchase and he felt rather silly scuttling up to the top to find he was staring at the exact scenery he’d been staring at and no water thus far. 

At the very least, he could sort out his memories, or lack thereof during his quest for civilization, granted he wasn’t meandering about in circles without knowing it with everything so similar in appearance. It was odd enough that he awoke upon daybreak completely isolated and with so little at his disposal. If he had been journeying far, he would have at _least_ hoped he’d be smart enough to have brought supplies. It would explain a bit more if he had been mugged, but again, he could do little to test his theory with no memory. 

“This is pathetic…” It was really the first time he’d spoken and his voice almost surprised him. Trying to keep himself optimistic wasn’t necessarily hard, but he certainly wouldn’t deny he was feeling very frustrated. Without the ability to judge his progress, he felt he was making none what so ever. He had to keep moving if he was actually going to get anywhere, but he felt very little motivation or incentive to pick a direction and stick with it. 

If nothing else, he could continue his general path and avoid walking directly into the sun and hope for the time being that it was in a route he wanted to go. 

He didn’t necessarily account for another hour or two of walking and still finding little to act as a mile marker. He was beginning to grumble to himself as the sun was climbing higher. Lifting one pale hand to shade his eyes, he hoped to maybe tell the time by sun position, but as his luck would have it, one glance away from his path and his foot caught on some offensive object, presumably a rock out of place and he was flailing to catch his balance. Once he regained his poise and was ready to explode at that point, he was whipping around to glare daggers at the rock before plucking it up and hurling it into the distance; snorting once with a gruff nod and feeling quite justified at his momentary mad outburst. 

Turning to continue on, he paused a moment when he only just happened to notice that the rock was, in fact, lining what could only be a dirt road. 

He stared in disbelief for a moment, eyes trailing along the path to further convince himself he wasn’t seeing things in his slight hysteria, but it continued on as inoffensively as any dirt road could; it was almost mockingly comical. 

However, just along the dip of the road and lifting above the peak of a hill was just the kind of reprieve he could have ever hoped for as a rather simple horse-pulled supply carriage was making its rickety way toward him. With an excitement pulsing through him, he was immediately rushing forward to wave it down before he abruptly lost his footing and fell face first into the dirt; a cloud of dust and dry soil billowing around him upon impact.

-

"Boy, you're sure lucky I came along if you ain't carrying nothing to protect yourself." Luckily, the humiliation of eating a mouthful of dirt before frantically flagging down the passing farmer seemed to be kindly brushed over. "You're welcome to climb in the back with my boy, just mind the crop. Don't crush nothin'." 

A thumb hooked over his shoulder as the middle aged man peered down from beneath a large and tattered straw hat; a very typical looking farmer…almost laughable with how quaint it seemed. Despite the act of kindness, he could tell this man was not unguarded, not naive. "Don't take it personal, but we're both armed. Been trouble with bandits all over lately. Surprised y'mother ain't sent 'ya off with knife or nothin' if yer travelin' alone."

 So the mugging seemed like an all the more probable explanation now. Head trauma would seem reasonable to expect as well, but his skull felt fine, to be honest. Could the work of mages be to blame? A hex, perhaps? 

Nodding in understanding and thanks, he dusted off dirtied pants and shirt a bit more and rounded the wagon, seeing a set of eyes peeking back. That must have been the armed son, as mentioned before. The shaggy brown hair led him to believe he was just barely reaching his teens, even more so when he reached the back and saw the baby face and slightly ill-fitting work clothes.

"Sorry to intrude - Thank you again."

The boy remained wary even so, something admirable and perhaps a bit unsettling as his stare didn’t falter even after he had finished flicking off the last bit of visible dust from his boots. As much as he didn’t want to gawk straight back at him, he found it was far more awkward attempting to avoid eye contact and hence began a rather patchy, unofficial staring contest with the boy. 

Oddly enough, the boy was the first to break the silence.

“You a time traveler or somethin’?” The question caught him entirely off guard and, perhaps less odd was his lack of a response as he was at a loss for words momentarily.

“Pardon?” He managed after trying to make sense of his question, or see if he was possibly joking. The fluffy haired little farmer’s expression assured him that he certainly wasn’t joking and his question was quite legitimate. 

“Your hair; It’s white as snow, but you can’t be older than my pa. I ain’t seen people with hair like yours.” His explanation was accompanied by such conviction in his eyes, the acclaimed white-haired individual was still unable to respond with much else aside an incredibly lame ‘uh…’ 

Luckily, his father cut in before the tension could worsen.

“Donny, stop spoutin’ nonsense back there. You got hay for brains, boy? Plenty of people from other countries to the west got hair like him. Goin’ off ‘bout time travel, everyone’s gonna say you’ve gone mad.” As grateful as he was for the father’s interjection, he couldn’t help feeling the slightest bit of pity toward the boy now identified as Donny.  Peaking at the older man, he was leaning toward Donny in a rather secretive manner and responded rather playfully. He hoped to earn the boy’s trust through jest and perhaps be spared of further staring. 

“I personally think time-traveler sounds far more interesting.” 

Bingo; a little grin. 

“I reckon nothin’s impossible, you know?” The boy whispered back, wary of his father overhearing such wild thoughts of his. 

“I heard of these – these wizards and such having magic! Or…uh…Mags ‘er something…”Was he trying to think of the word ‘mage’? He couldn’t remember Ylisse having such a lack of mages that it would be a rarity. Then again…he hardly remembered anything at all. Perhaps the town Donny came from was just that quaint. 

“But if they can do spells, who says they ain’t got the means to jump around through time, right? Seems kinda scary. But I sure wouldn’t mind doin’ it myself for fun once in a while. You could skip right to Sunday supper!”

The white haired individual couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled from his throat, rather fond of the innocent charm of Donny's perception of time travel. There were many terrible things that could be wrought were time travel possible, hence the prospect of using it to leap to a preferred meal was endearing. 

“I’d probably skip through rainy days and harsh winters, realistically.” He responded honestly, feeling his was rather boring and perhaps even too practical to worth mentioning, though he’d already done so. After such a comment, however, they were dwelling on the topic no further. 

As frustrating as it was, keeping awake was far more difficult than expected. Were it any other situation, he was sure keeping alert and studying his surroundings as best possible would come easily, but he still was unsure the specifics of his circumstance regardless. His exhaustion could have come from many things; residual effects of a tonic he’d been slipped, the afterglow of a hex, or any amount of your everyday fatigue that came from common stresses. He’d never consider himself a very uptight individual, and yet…

His brows cinched a bit, body tensing as his fingers were beginning to pull apart the hay pieces that gathered at his feet. 

He couldn’t much recall what kind of individual he was, _period._ His lapse in memory had been troubling him, but something about it felt eerie and unsettling, or perhaps he was justifiably paranoid. He would expect to remember certain things, information that is ingrained within one’s psyche that a simple spell or concoction or even a blow to the head couldn’t reverse, and yet—

“—Boy?...Hey, you hear me?” 

Startled from his reverie, his lashes were fluttering to attention and was immediately trying to tune into a conversation he hadn’t been aware he was a part of.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t.” He answered abashedly before the farmer was repeating himself.

“I said ‘you got a name’, stranger? Realized we didn’t introduce ourselves before.” 

A slight dread settled over him as the question that had been troubling him the most was poised before him.

Gods, if he couldn't even remember this much about himself… He couldn't imagine this could be the work of anything other than a powerful curse. He would have to try to find a healer for this type of memory loss, but for now, it felt too suspicious to say nothing.

_-the papers in his pocket._

"R-Robin-" He said with the slightest amount of hesitation upon recalling the documents, though it could be associated with being taken off guard. No one seemed to pay much mind to his stammered response, rather the farmer responded with a nod before continuing his string of somewhat troubling, albeit innocent questions.

 "Yer goin' to the capital, right? What business ya got there in the city?" Another thing he couldn't answer…and found himself somewhat panicked that he couldn't.

"You visiting family? That why yer out here alone?"

With the papers providing him with a name he had only deduced was his own upon process of elimination alone, he felt completely and utterly exposed upon the next question. He contemplated stalling for a moment, feigning mishearing his question if only to search more vigorously for the answer himself for a few seconds longer.

Upon opening his mouth, he could only manage the slightest sound before Donny was popping up beside him and excitedly peering out through the front of the carriage; his fluffy head of hair struggling to get the best view possible from behind his father. 

“Pa! Is that it? Is that the capital?” His excitement wasn’t shared with his father as he responded, though this was presumably the first time Donny had ever seen the city. Pushing himself to his feet and wobbling his way to the front as well, Robin was gingerly peeling back the protective cloth of the carriage to get a view of the city himself; feeling a bit of relief that he and Donny shared a similar feeling of an exciting reveal. 

From what he could make of it at such a great distance, it was massive in size and beautifully decorated in stone, wood, marble and granite. The veil of space that blanketed a clear view only had Robin all the more anticipatory to see just how large it was up close, but any further analysis was cut short. A heavy, thick pulse suddenly surged at his temple, setting him off balance for a moment before all sound deafened and left his ears ringing before fizzling into a static. He hadn’t noticed the way he’d buckled until Donny was upon him and worrying about him in an innocent fashion.

“I’m alright—just stood up a bit too fast.”  Offering a pathetic half grin, he was quick to dismiss any further concern; a momentary dizziness washing over him before fading just as quickly. Barely peeking out the front again, Robin turned away to settle himself back down where he’d been seated, fingers curling restlessly into his palms.

This was not his first time visiting the capital of this country. He had seen it before, somewhere.

"Oh, pa says that means you gotta get food in you when you get spinning like that." It made sense from an outsider's perspective and he certainly wouldn't correct his naive deduction.

There was too much he would have to explain and such little knowledge of the topic he had for himself. Brown eyes shifting toward the soft rummaging beside him, he jerked back as a piece of bread was suddenly thrust before his nose. 

"I got an apple too if ya want. Did'ja not get enough breakfast?" Good question. Judging by the sharp growl in his stomach in response to having food waved before him, he'd wager he hadn't eaten at all. He might not have even had dinner with the way these hunger pangs were suddenly erupting with such ferocity.

 "Ah, thank you - you don't mind?" 

Bashfulness crept over him as he wanted to accept the food as quickly as possible, but it would be rude, he felt, to just snatch it up. Would it also be inconsiderate to offer money? He already planned to offer something upon arriving in the city. Counting the coins was one of the first things he'd done to try to jog his memory. He wasn't too poor off, but certainly he'd have to ration himself and make wise financial decisions from here on.

“We’ve plenty to spare. It would be kinda’ heartless to let ya go hungry. A little bread and an apple or two is no sweat off our backs.” The father dismissed, demonstrating that despite his stern disposition at times, he was a kind individual and something his son obviously admired him for. 

Robin eagerly accepted their offering after giving his thanks once again, eating with vigor as he was far more famished than originally anticipated and only upon touching food to his lips was he aware of such an appetite. He ate only what he was offered, that being a small loaf of bread and one apple, though after brutally eying the barrel of apples akin to a ravenous animal, they were offering him a few more apples; something he quite abashedly accepted  with a pink to his cheeks as he hadn’t intended to intimidate his gracious hosts with his hunger. He didn’t have a means to store them, but he certainly would not pass up the offer of free food as his situation didn’t warrant the expense of a decent meal with his limited currency. 

As they drew closer to the city and the walls of stone and granite grew higher and higher, Robin was spared a moment of his apprehension to regard the city in absolute awe. As impossible as it seemed, the sheer size of the capital was swallowed in the bustling and exciting chaos of its citizens that were plentifully peppered within the gate entrance and even outside of it. The farmer’s carriage stopped only a moment at the threshold of the posterns, exchanging a few familiar words with the guards stationed there before setting forth and a moment of surrealism settled over the white haired boy. 

He would have to carve his way into a life that already existed and knew nothing about with nothing but the clothes on his back. He’d no doubt be parting with his kind companions in due time and hence forth, he’d have to blaze a trail entirely anew. The tick in his temple and the pumping of his heart grew faster as his fingers shredded the straw that unfortunately found its way in his fingers. 

  "This is as far as we can take 'ya. I reckon you can find yer way from here?" The kindly farmer had halted his horse, sliding down to lash the reins to a small post. 

With a soft thud, Donnel had hopped down with a pail, ready to water the animal as it nickered and pawed the packed earth in anticipation. With fingers wringing softly against his wrist bracers, Robin battled with his apprehension. Should he swallow this embarrassment or pride, whatever held him back from asking more of the city he was supposed to know? Or was information gathering his best course of action? The latter felt more comfortable, albeit perhaps a bit foolish.

 "Yeah. You've done much more for me than I ever expected." His hand began to slide to the fold of his pocket but a soft grunt and shake of the farmer's head stopped him, Robin’s cheeks coloring.

 "Hang on to yer money, boy. It's certainly nothing we couldn't spare. You just be more careful leavin' this place alone next time, y'hear?" He responded with a humbled nod, nearly startling as the shaggy haired son popped into view, grin toothy with a piece or two of dried hay jutting from his brown locks. 

"Come by and buy some vegetables next time, too! We can give you a nice discount. Our prices are real good!" They were charming folks, kindness infectious as a smile spread to the displaced traveler's mouth. 

"Yeah, I'll be sure to do that. Thank you for everything~"

He felt inclined to bow his head, though the two were pleased enough with a wave in their direction as Robin picked a direction at random and went with it. 

If there were a designated time perfectly suited to panic, it would be right then and there. Every circumstance justified having at least a momentary break down, but Robin prided himself in practicality.; or at least the hunch that he was a practical individual considering. 

Panicking would do him no good what so ever and coming across as neurotic to a general audience of strangers wouldn’t bode well for him, either. He had managed to get this far in one day alone, he would manage one way or another. Currently, the wisest idea was to map out the city; get a feel of where he was and where he had apparently come from and if he were lucky, jog his memory and get a bit of a lead instead of aimlessly grasping for straws. 

For the most part, he seemed to blend in here. No one really gave him any strange looks, not so long as he didn't stand gawking at any one thing for too long. But the high walls of the city, alongside the sheer bustle of people certainly was a spectacle all on its own. Flags waved in the noon breeze, a few soldiers marched about with the townspeople.

 It seemed to be with harmony that people lived here under their government. There was no sense of tension other than hushed whispers he could hear about more bandit attacks around the borders. It was as the farmer had mentioned; there was discord amongst the people and the random attackers that plagued their fields. It felt good to at least be in a country where it's people and it's rulers seemed more or less peaceful with one another, despite the surge of outlaws.

 Peace was always something taken advantage of. The crowds of people did prove to set the light haired traveler on edge from time to time, feeling anxiety grip at having all these voices and bodies mill and bump through the streets, doing daily routines…and yet not a single one was familiar. The thorn of isolation drove itself into the back of his brain a little deeper. In the same token, some ease settled into his bones to know this was not a land ruled by an iron fist. He'd have less to worry about being picked out and locked up for seeming out of place…so long as the papers he owned really were accurate.

After several hours of meandering the streets and attempting to piece something together, maybe establish some sort of lead, he was left with little to work with and decided to redirect his focus to locating a place to stay for the night. 

Digging into his pockets, he was pulling out the rather pathetic amount of currency and stared at it with disdain and a cinch to his brow. He tucked it away with a heavy sigh of defeat and pinched the bridge of his nose as he struggled to weigh his options. Certainly coming to the capital of the country had many benefits, but when it came to bargaining a bed, well, he was more than a pretty penny short. 

He was lucky to have come across the farmer and his son who were so willing to give him the lift, but he wouldn’t hold his breath for similar circumstances in the city. But at the very least, he had to try. Perhaps if he traded his labor services for lodging, he would make some headway…

“I’m sorry, but we have all the work we need. You’d best look elsewhere.” 

“Oh, to be young~! Cherish your youth while you have it, don’t be in such a hurry to grow up.”

“Sorry, kid, we’re busy here; can’t take the time to listen to every person who’s got a story.” 

 “We don’t need any more pretty-faced boys toying with my daughter’s heart; get lost, lout.”

“Is this McKenna’s doing?! You can go ahead and tell that pompous, dizzy-eyed stock-fish that he’ll choke on my boots the next time I see his pathetic face!”

“You don’t exactly look like you’re cut out for this kind of work, kid. I like your spunk, though!”

“No.”

Even after jerking his head back to avoid injury, his nose was still caught in the crossfire- the door slamming just hard enough into it as it was whipped shut in his face and he was momentarily met with an explosion of stars. It took him a moment to regain his sight while the spots slowly faded from his vision.

Quick to check and see if his nose was bleeding, (it wasn’t) Robin was wearily settling himself atop a gathering of crates nestled against the last building he’d made his most recent and potentially final attempt at. Rubbing the sore appendage, he was reaching his free hand into a satchel he’d secured and pulled out a stick of dried fruit he’d been offered out of what he could only presume was pure pity. 

His expression remained relatively deadpanned and somewhat annoyed as he chewed, half pouting and a bit too stubborn to wipe the bead of tears that had reactively gathered from the smarting blow to his nose.  More outlandish accusations aside, he wasn’t _that_ childlike, was he? Arguably, he wasn’t _large_ for his age and perhaps leaned on the smaller side, but…--how old was he, anyway?

“Hey, you there,”

a voice interrupted, pulling Robin from his troubling reverie. Lifting his head of fluffy white hair and flicking warm brown eyes about, he tried to locate who had addressed him. A rather breathy chuckle gave him another clue as he turned his head right around to spot a woman peering out from the alleyway just adjacent to where he sat.

“You need work?” Interest immediately piqued, Robin was nodding once in affirmation before she beckoned him to follow. With little to lose, he hopped down from where he sat and skittered over. 

It took little else than a look inside and rather unwarranted groping from the ‘woman’ for Robin to revise his decision and fervently decline their enthusiastic offer. Perhaps it could be considered flattery but Robin would have to be on a whole different level of desperate to agree to – he swallowed thickly – _that_ kind of work entertainment.  

What was life like for the poor beggars who weren't even as well off as he? The blind or those with loss of limb? It was certainly a harrowing experience, even if only for a day, to be unable to find work and provide for only himself; even more so with no identity at all. 

He lifted the broken handle of a discarded broom as he walked back into a small alleyway while he centered his thoughts once more and, more or less, moped a bit. What was the worst that could happen if he did not find work or shelter for the night? He could certainly stand a night out in the elements…but would soldiers come to rouse him for trespassing? It would be best not to garner that sort of attention to himself. 

Heavy, hot air gushed from his lips in an exasperated sigh, wrist twirling as the worn rod rolled over his palm and over the back of his hand, spinning it in a three hundred and sixty degree turn. Oh…he didn't know he could do that. He twirled it again, brows lifted, feeling the natural movement as he could easily wield the staff in a somewhat flashy manner. Did he have some sort of training in defensive arts? 

The corners of his lips twitched, beginning to spin the broken shaft faster, switching hands, even taking a strike outward at an imaginary foe with a small 'ha!' as he cut the air. 

Yes, he was good with his hands…! Alright…so perhaps this type of skill could be put to use. He spun it again, around his back, rolling his wrist and striking. He was pretty cool! 

With just a glimpse as the staff flicked over the back of his right hand to spin up into the air, something suddenly caught his eye. A piece of a marking, though too intricate to be a birth mark, drew his attention for just a moment; dull against his skin and peeking out from beneath his vambrace. The moment proved long enough for the staff to swing back down with gravity and strike him dead between the eyes, completely shattering any personal fantasy of being suave while he groaned and cupped his face, wood clattering to the ground. 

It was best just to leave it, perhaps even shuffle off should anyone have caught an eyeful of such an embarrassing display. Boots scuffing the cobblestone, he moved further down the alley with a deep blush to his cheeks, just around the corner before allowing his earlier observations to come to the forefront. Pulling the stiff leather back carefully between two fingers, his brown eyes scanned what he could see of the foreign design, albeit it seemed incredibly faded. 

What kind of art was this…? A family brand? It appeared…well, a bit unsettling with no context behind the multiple eye-like characters. Then again, perhaps someone could identify the design; tell him which family it belonged to or any sort of meaning it had.

 It could be a good clue….assuming that's what it really was. Gods, could such a mark be the brand of a thief or other criminal perhaps?! Slapping the leather back down, he yanked the bracer a bit more fitfully down his wrist to cover it up; best _n_ _ot_ to gamble on such a thing.

He tried for the last remaining hours of sunlight to find some possible place to take refuge for the night and from his observation, he was nowhere near a convent or church of any kind to provide potential sanctuary. Nothing was guaranteed of course, and as friendly as the overall people of the city had proven to be, he wasn’t so naïve as to flounce about at night without so much as a general knowledge of the city’s layout. 

He wasn’t so lucky as to land a place to sleep, though he couldn’t say he was surprised. He also wasn’t so daring as to sleep out in the open, lest he want to reap the consequences that came with being entirely exposed. The elements were the least of his worries, though he certainly wouldn’t mind a dry place in case of a morning rain. 

Wandering as far as he was comfortable in the dwindling hours of twilight, his first glimpse at night life was rather heartening, a new kind of energy glowing in the citizens as lanterns were beginning to illuminate the streets in an array of colorful flames. He wouldn’t have minded loitering about and socializing, familiarizing himself with the exciting rush of sundown a bit more, but he knew it wouldn’t be wise. Perhaps in time he’d have the luxury, but he had his priorities. 

He wasn’t fond of being sneaky or dishonest, but he had little other choice if he was going to get by. Nearing the entrance of the city, Robin came across a stable of livestock conveniently abandoned for the evening. He didn’t want to consider himself avaricious but he wouldn’t lie that he thought twice about utilizing the space simply because of the smell. 

Common sense won out, of course, and after finding the cleanest pile of hay, he nestled himself in as comfortably as he possibly could and fell asleep far faster than he would have anticipated. 

He dreamed of eating from a basket of plump, ripe peaches. 

\---

 

 


	2. Press

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pleased everyone enjoyed the first chapter! Thank you so much for all your support and the comments you all left!  
> In case it wasn't clear by now, this story works up slowly. I'm not sure how many chapters it will be, but my girlfriend and I aren't so cruel as to drag it out beyond anyone's tolerance. 
> 
> ANYWAY~! I hope you continue to enjoy our story! It's such a pleasure to write.

A hot, sticky rush of air on the back of his neck was not what he expected to wake up to.

It was not a natural humid breeze and had he more time to process the sensation, he may have figured it out before the sharp tug at his white locks woke him in a frenzy with a sharp yelp of pain.

"Owww, _owowow_!!" Another hot blast of damp air hit him, hearing the huff of the large beast above him as his brown eyes opened wide in a panicked daze. A horse was currently sampling his hair, testing it as food as it was presently resting among what the mare had deemed her breakfast.

"Shah, you get away from there! Git!!" Gods - someone had already come in before he had a chance to sneak out! And by the sound of it, quite the stern stable hand. It would be best to make his escape before he was trampled…or speared on the end of a pitchfork for trespassing.

The horse made a huff of discontent, shuffling back out of the stall it was being lead from while the older woman's voice continued to scold it from just yards away. He'd have to make a break for it. He'd missed his chance to get out before sunrise by an hour or more.

The messy, straw filled mop of white hair popped over the side of the splintering wooden door, eyeing the gaunt, gangly woman who was huffily filling pails with grain as she mumbled to herself (or the horses).

  _Now_!

 He made a dash, tripping over his boots, scuffing against the unsteady straw bedding as his exit was less than graceful. Alerting a few of the horses as they turned their heads and flicked their ears forward, he realized he was not being the slightest bit stealthy. He was too disoriented for proper planning, but as luck would have it, he was leaping out of the door before the woman could much register the disturbance.

"H-hey!! Who's there?! Show yourself, thief!!" Sprinting away down the packed dirt road certainly made him look like a thief, didn't it.

"Sorry!! W-Wrong stable!!!" He instinctively called back, wanting to somehow cure the misunderstanding, apologize, anything.

_Idiot, it’s not going to help to yell like a madman either. Just keep quiet - you're already screwing this up!_

He ran as fast as he figured wouldn’t raise suspicion, though even as such, it didn’t take long for him to become rather winded.  He was rounding the first corner he saw, now well out of the crossfire for good measure, though he had to double over to catch his breath; cheeks flushed pink with exertion as adrenaline whirred inside him.

That was certainly one way to start the morning. Even if he could have continued sleeping well into the early hours of the afternoon, there was no question he was fully and entirely awake.

Once he’d managed to settle his thundering heart rate, he took the time to dust himself off. Stray bits of hay clung to his gray pants and jutted out of his boots a bit; trace amounts of the splintered grass making its way all the way up in and under his little yellow coat.

With no cloak, cape or robe to keep him warm, he was certainly grateful for his makeshift cot of the previous evening, but such wouldn’t keep him from grumbling as he plucked away every insufferable blade. That, however, was when he noticed.

“My satchel…” he remarked aloud, dread settling over him like a bristled chill as he immediately flounced about, cocking his head every which way to peer at every possible angle of himself. After making a thorough sweep, he was letting out a rather defeated sigh as he wiped a hand down his face in exasperation. It seemed inevitable he be met with every opposing force that could be realistically thrown at him and where he had little of real value in the sack he’d left behind, it _did_ have what remnants of food he’d gathered of the day prior.

“Stop, thief!”

Immediately set on edge once more, Robin was startling to attention as he presumed automatically that the accusation could only be directed toward himself. Despite being poised to dart off once again, he managed only two steps before he was colliding rather roughly with another body and the both of them were crashing to the unforgiving cobble stone below.

Robin took the brunt of the fall as he was, accursedly, the smaller of the two; the man’s elbow landing a direct blow to his solar plexus and knocked the wind right from his lungs. His accidental assailant was quick to recover, scrambling to his feet and hasty in his attempted get away, but what Robin lacked in physical prowess he made up for with fastidiousness. 

This was undoubtedly the thief aforementioned, not a difficult deduction upon his nature alone, but with Robin’s up close and personal experience, there really was no doubting it. His recovery certainly wasn’t as fast, yet he’d managed his footing and in a few quick strides, Robin was curling his fingers into the dark fabric that cloaked the pickpocket’s upper body and hurled him back; setting the man off balance and struggling for purchase.

Robin supposed it should have been suspected as he was clipped by a hefty swing to his face, aimed for his nose but catching him at the corner of the mouth instead as his jaw clattered and his teeth sunk into his tongue. The second strike was something else entirely.

It felt as though it were charted – as if Robin could have pinpointed the man’s directive on a map. He knew where he would take aim, and as such, he dodged the strike with such fluidity, he almost lost himself within the moment entirely due to pure shock.

This was instinct.

Unable to dwell upon it, Robin poised to parry another blow before it was all put to an abrupt and anticlimactic end as a burly onlooker and his friend took matters into their own hands; ensnaring the pickpocket in their arms and subduing him withbrute force.

Robin's feet wobbled a bit, becoming unsteady as the adrenaline began to fade and his jaw throbbed, tongue too. Crimson beaded against the front of his gray undershirt, reflexively sending the young man to dart the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, nose wrinkling in response. The salty, iron flavor indicated his lip had indeed split during the impact. Great…just another thing to make him look even less approachable; a big welt on his jaw and a puffy, bleeding lip.

"You okay?" One of the men who'd wrestled down the thief asked once it was noticed that the white haired boy was staggering. With a soldier now swiftly on his way over, it seemed best not to linger.

"Ah, yes - I'm fine. Thank you - just dazed-" He was interrupted as the woman who'd been screaming after the cutpurse made her entrance, eyes wide and brown curls messy around her face. It appeared they'd worked free of her bonnet while she dashed after them.

"Ah!! Young man, are you alright?!" The question was repeated as he prepared yet again to wave it off, though was being clutched by the shoulders before a proper response could formulate on his lips.

"I saw him hit you! Gods, you've got blood on your mouth!" She was…certainly animated, reaching for her apron to dab his face, pushing back his hair in the same motion. Her enthusiasm was dazing him perhaps more than the wounds, fumbling over his words as she washed over him like a whirlwind, checking him here and there, tugging his clothes and pressing at his skin.

"That was kind of you -- but you're unarmed!! I'd never sleep if a boy was gutted retrieving my things!!" He'd had a knife? Brown eyes flicked over, just catching a glimpse of the blade as it had been easily wrestled away, especially after the criminal had been put out with a choke hold by the very satisfied, muscular duo. Having instinct enough to dodge punches seemed impressive, but not having the intuition to check for a weapon had been careless.

"Sorry, miss - Ah, ouch…" Her prodding wasn't exactly helping his wounds any.

“Goodness, for someone so young, that was quite brave of you.” She remarked in a somewhat huffy manner of praise, still appearing distressed at the prospect of injury more than impressed at his heroics. Whether it be of goodwill or some residual panic from the responsibility of his probable death, she didn’t cease her fussing until she finally appeared content with her work. Robin was, to say the very least, quite relieved to be free of it.

“Ah, I reacted more impulsively than consciously, I have to admit.” He confessed somewhat abashedly, his tongue pressing to the inside of his lip before lifting his hand to gingerly swipe his thumb against the swollen skin.

The woman who had flustered about him not moments ago went still upon Robin speaking, seeming shocked for whatever reason, though before the white haired boy could inquire, the rather burly man who had addressed him prior was slapping a hardy hand onto his back and nearly knocked the wind straight from his lungs.

“Now that was a rush to get your blood pumping so early in the morning, wasn’t it!” He had seemed terribly pleased at the commotion from the start. As Robin recovered from the amicable assault, he couldn’t help but note how unperturbed by strangers (or more bluntly, the general understanding of personal space) the two of them were. It was quite the opposite of the day before, though Robin couldn’t decide if he preferred it or not.

Eager as he was to make some connections, such meant he would have to procure answers about himself that he certainly didn’t have. It was a rather arduous cycle he was entombed in; should he press forward and blaze a new trail, or should he attempt to recover his memory little by little?

Fortunately he was unable to dwell on the ever present problem for much longer as the woman said something that worked its way past his musings.

“My apologies, did you just say…” He was wary to finish his sentence, lest he’d misheard and come across as a twit.

“I said I would like to treat you to a bit of breakfast, offer my gratitude if you will.” She reiterated.

Etiquette urged him to graciously refuse her offer as he’d felt he’d done little to warrant a free meal, but whether he was aware or not, Robin’s expression underwent a metamorphosis; becoming doe-eyed and cheeks dusting an anticipatory pink. He prayed the voracious gurgle of his gut went unheard as he was quick to swallow the slaver that gathered along his tongue.

“If you would have me, I would be delighted.” Polite as he endeavored to sound, his voice cracked ever so slightly and did not go unnoticed, though thankfully only evoked a little giggle of amusement.

As unwise as it may have been to follow a stranger back to their home, it seemed more so to refuse a free meal. Not to mention the fact that he owned very little of worth, so robbery didn’t seem to be a high threat to his person.           

The woman who led him along, however, seemed to have changed in her demeanor. Strands of thick hair wound around her index, eyes caught between staring and averting as she chattered further about the ‘brave rescue’, to which he always politely waved off. Hopefully she wasn’t feeling nervous about her offer now. He certainly would never want to make such a kind host feel uncomfortable, so as such, he tried his best to appear as harmless as possible. It didn’t feel terribly difficult considering his rather…scrawny body type and round face.

“Ah, my manners – My name is Margaret~”

Gods, introductions again. Familiar anxiety bubbled in his gut, tongue feeling tight in his mouth while the response came out as a result of some mental practice.

“Robin – It’s very nice to meet you…Miss Margaret?” He tested, making an assumption he hoped wouldn’t offend. Her soft flush and smile confirmed it before her words did.

“Right, right~ No husband just yet. Work keeps me a bit too busy these days for courting.”

Robin was giving a nod of understanding, not wanting to dwell upon the topic if it was going to leave the woman in an uncomfortable position. He didn’t much care about her marital status as he wanted to make sure he would address her properly and respectfully.

He would have been perfectly content if their journey remained in silence, however that was not to be so.  She had taken to small talk, certainly not something Robin was necessarily troubled with, though he had few cards to play with and though he wasn’t the most charismatic individual, he would gladly divert the topic of conversation to her to spare himself further analysis.

Yet as his luck would have it, she was intrigued by him and only wished to know more. Perhaps it was deceptive of him, but he found himself rather skilled in dodging direct answers and changing subjects. The notion that perhaps karma was rearing its ugly head and, just perhaps, he was currently suffering the residual effects of his own well deserved karma-induced punishment had occurred to him. He only hoped he wasn’t so despicable a human being, though he couldn’t be too sure.

The momentarily bleak thought was wiped clean the instant they arrived as the rich, aromatic scent of breads, pastries and fresh meats immediately resulted in salivation and an embarrassing growl to erupt from his gut.  His cheeks immediately colored and a hand pressed against his stomach though he knew it futile in masking any sound. Luckily she found it more a compliment than rude.

“Is this your work place?” He inquired, eager to direct attention away from his blathering belly.

She was placing firm fists upon her hips in pride, grinning nearly from ear to ear as she was only casting him a playful eye before marching forward and walking right in; holding the front door for him as her actions easily answered his question.

Without hesitation, Robin quickly followed suit; brown eyes wide in awe as he hadn’t suspected such a grandiose spectacle, although he could likely contribute that to his nigh unbearable hunger.

There were already a few others enjoying meals inside the very warm, clean interior. The floors, albeit worn down from multiple treks across the boards, were well swept and clean of any scraps from the customers, aside from a large knuckle bone, most likely from recently butchered cattle. Gnawing on said bone was a rather long, white and tan dog, ears flopped around its head. It was lanky, but seemingly well fed and cared for. Visitors even called it by name as they would drop small morsels and the long tail would wag in response. As they traveled by, boards creaking, it’s ears barely twitched, head lifting marginally to eye the new young man as they passed by to the counter. There, a far older woman and an equally older man worked diligently; chopping and kneading, chatting with guests and working harder.      

“Margaret, you’ve returned without any potatoes? And your bonnet is crooked.” The woman with grey streaks in her hair commented, tucking back a few frizzled pieces herself. Assuming this was her mother, Robin could deduce where the curls had come from.               

“What can I fix you up with, young man?” The older gentleman made it a point to address the potential customer entering first and foremost, doing so with raised brows and rough hands covered in goose feathers. Eugh….was he actually plucking one right there? Perhaps it would be best to have food offered by the wife or daughter – not that he would be picky with this kind of accommodation. Simply…dead birds had a strange effect on him; call it a squeamish quirk.

_At least I’m learning more about myself._

Before Robin could respond with much of anything, Margaret was piping her retort in a somewhat defensive manner, though appeared eager to showcase the white haired individual. Robin, consequently, was not so eager.

“Well pardon me for my appearance after nearly being pickpocketed of all my belongings.” She huffed in a somewhat sarcastic manner before smiling at the boy beside her who did his best to communicate with his eyes that presenting him to her captive audience really wasn’t necessary.

It didn’t work.

“But this amazingly brave young man prevented that from happening.” The more she talked, the more attention she was drawing and Robin could feel himself start to buckle somewhat under such inquiry. “He chased down the culprit, took him out and returned my satchel to me!”

Where she was all pride and excitement, Robin was quite the opposite.

Those occupying the business were impressed, though it was her parents that were the most attentive to him; expressing levels of gratitude and awe that Robin truly believed was unnecessary.

“Really, it wasn’t so glorious, I—” as much as he had intended to dismiss further praise, they would hear little of it and the white haired boy couldn’t find it within him to refuse any longer after they offered him a freshly cooked meal. Admittedly, he was spared of any personal questions and analysis of his history which absolved a majority of his initial anxiety. Realistically, most who were curious of the ordeal asked solely about that, to which Margaret was more than eager to tell the story herself.

Clapping his hands together in whatever prayer he could think of to whatever god he should be grateful to, Robin thereafter didn’t hesitate to promptly inhale his meal with gusto rivaled by no other around him.

It was a wonder he’d managed to catch wind of the conversation at the door, just a decibel above the hum of customer activity and only barely audible against his enthusiastic chewing. It was, at first, ambient noise among all the other chatter before Robin’s interest was immediately piqued upon hearing the lasts of it. Almost forgetting his meal altogether, he was honing in as discretely as he could.

“…from what I understand, they’ve been short staffed lately. With all the elevated crime, people have been on the move to safer positions, y’know?” he hadn’t caught much, but it was certainly enough to get him scrambling out of his seat.

\---

Okay, so it _was_ dangerous.

If the worn spear in his hand didn’t solidify that notion after hearing the men complaining of people being too soft to take on the job, then the small bloodstain he’d spotted on the side of the caravan did.

When he’d first approached the two chatting, wiping food from his still swollen lip to inquire about this potentially open position, he was nearly scoffed at. No doubt the sight of his round face and slight frame had set them sniggering, thinking the approach was some sort of well-played joke. It was the earnestness in his expression that made them second-guess, looking at each other with a mixture of disbelief and concern before delivering their initial response. ‘Kid, this isn’t the type of work you-‘ one had started before the other lifted thick brows and muttered. ‘Wait, they were talkin’ about you taking down a thief earlier, right? How old are ‘ya, anyway?’

Now here he was, shuffling along, off the cobblestone onto the packed dirt roads winding out of the safety of the capital. Beside him was a cargo of….well, he wasn’t sure, exactly; just goods that were destined for the next town over, as it was loosely explained. He’d peeked under the canvas covering once, but everything was in barrels or wrapped up in tight bundles, probably to keep whatever it was safe from the elements. So long as it was nothing illegal, it didn’t seem he needed to be concerned.     

The more urgent topic at hand had to do directly with the old, somewhat cheap weapon in his hands. A spear would be good for keeping a distance from any attackers…but could he even wield one? Despite his talent for spinning a broomstick in hand, it still felt awkward pressed in his grip. Not that he had much of a choice without any weapons of his own, he just hoped his lucky scuffle with the thief earlier hadn’t been just that; luck. He was betting everything on the notion that he had some self-defense skill, and after smooth talking his employers into believing he did, he’d look like a fool if he couldn’t deliver.

_A **dead** fool once the bandits are done with me._

As easily as such thoughts could consume him, he was stubbornly shaking them off if at least to fake himself into being confident. If there was anything that saved someone’s life in battle, it was a calm and collected mind.

He wouldn’t say he found resolve per se, but a somewhat inexplicable feeling of composure settled over him; enough to, at the very least, yield the slight shaking in his knees. 

He still looked a bit pathetic. Or so claimed his fellow colleague, a presumably more experienced sell sword than himself and rather blunt as it turned out. Oddly enough, the two of them got along rather well and the only threat that had befallen the precious cargo was a family of raccoons in the middle of the night.

As troublesome as it was to be continuously teased for the duration of the return trip about his rather frenzied reaction to finding the animals, the connections he established during such travel proved to be the best reward.

Though he shared little detail of his circumstances, his short time workfellows were more than eager to lend him a helping hand in finding temporary labor. With nothing to offer in gratitude, Robin was unsure why such individuals would extend their aid, but he would question it no further. He couldn’t afford much inquiry in his position, so he would do his very best to trust in the disposition of the country’s citizens.

First job his trust landed him in was filling barrels with potatoes. It was simplistic, monotonous and honestly, quite boring. It was also physically taxing and alluded to another aspect of himself that he didn’t find very appealing.

To put it kindly, his stamina was subpar.

He was often left winded, achy and uncomfortably flushed after his work load and though he was no longer in need of a cloak to stay warm during the day, he truly wasn’t sure if he preferred the occasional chill as compared to being hot and _moist._ He grimaced at the thought, presenting yet another issue as well.

He had not bathed since arriving in the capital.

He’d had the fortune of finding a forgotten barrel filled with some rainwater to at least rinse the sweat from his face and arms, but being rather stagnant water and with no soap, it wasn’t as satisfying as he expected.         

Still, he would take sweaty and unwashed over starving any day. Why exactly he was in this predicament, he wasn’t any closer to finding out.           

A few more days of shuffling potatoes and escorting another cart put more coins in his pocket, but he had to admit…he was filthy and quite the sad sight. He’d been done the kindness of someone actually allowing him to stay in a stable for a night, but his drifting was beginning to show. A bath, a coat, and an actual roof over his head were needed before he could concentrate on much else other than not starving.

“Nnh…my shoulders…” He muttered, the stiffness beginning to creep in as the day’s work had been finished just over an hour ago. In a quiet corner, just between two rather sturdy buildings, was where he’d settled down with his freshly purchased dinner of bread and jerky. He’d been eyeing a couple red, shiny apples at another vendor and lamented now that he had not indulged in one, but it was best to save whatever he could.

A large chunk tore away between his teeth, the bread rather dry against his tongue without any water to accompany his meal. How long would he live like this? Was there anyone even looking for him?

Swallowing the piece, he was sinking his teeth into it for another bite before hissing and promptly pulling the jerky out as he’d bit his tongue. Tears lined his vision just slightly as he’d clamped down rather hard and was most likely bleeding.

Perhaps he had been cursed by a spell of misfortune. It seemed he was constantly riddled with bad happenstances and just barely dodging a risky situation, making a fool of himself all the while. He’d experienced his strokes of luck here and there, yet he’d made little progress in figuring out much of anything about himself.

Sniffing lightly, he leaned his sore body back against the stone wall behind him and let out a rather heavy sigh before snorting in somewhat weary amusement. Perhaps he should consider prayer? Though he’d little idea which god to pray to, what harm would it do in his situation?

Or would such a thing be unwise…? Would he be scorned for praying out of sheer necessity or his own selfish peace of mind? Religion was a sacred subject, something Robin felt he should fully respect even if he was unsure of where he stood in the mixture, and yet, he couldn’t stop himself from gingerly threading his fingers together.

Lining his bottom lip with his bleeding tongue, unthinkingly, he was opening his mouth to start something, _anything_ that he could come up with before he was interrupted by the soft voice of another just above him.

“Beg pardon…”

 His bones nearly popped from his skin in surprise, hands quickly peeling apart and figure making to stand as he was sure whoever had spoken was going to kindly usher him along from where he’d sat. He was probably being an unwitting nuisance for a local shop or home, and thus opened his mouth quickly to answer the soft call. He was met with the sight of long blonde hair and bright robes, soft eyes and a cautious smile, most likely due to his rather ‘energetic’ response to being called.

Was this a woman of religion? He’d seen others dressed in a similar fashion praying in town before, but he could have sworn them to all be men. Perhaps it was just chance and their uniforms were genderless.            

_Talk about timing…_

“Er, I’m sorry, I’m not bothering anyone, am I? I was honestly just looking for a quiet place to eat my dinner. I can move along-“

A hand raised to quell his frantic apology, the smile gracing this stranger’s face widening a fraction.

“Please, that is unnecessary. You’re certainly no nuisance. I simply came out to inquire why you were sitting in such a place.”Goodness, she had a soothing voice. It was deeper than he originally expected, but somehow not unfitting.

“I don’t mean any insult to you, but I have noticed you tending to frequent this one spot….but I never actually see you return home. I pray not, but perhaps you are without one…?”

He ...had been observed? For how long...? He could feel the rouge of his cheeks spreading to his ears as he was struck with a flush of humility, attempting to keep composure and appear even a fraction regal as the woman was before him.

Needless to say, he failed miserably.

Caked with dirt and grime and undoubtedly slicked in a greasy film of sweat as well as smelling much the way he felt, there was no countenance he could exude that called for a respectable impression.

"I suppose I'm in no state to deny it..." He attempted at humor, pathetic as it was and plucked absentmindedly at white pants that were now a rather odd collage of earthy colors.

"If I'm any disturbance, I--" Robin was cut short as her stare and manner of reaching out to him startled him to stillness. She seemed to realize Robin's sudden apprehension and was withdrawing only somewhat.

"I apologize, you just appear to be bleeding..."

Reflexively, Robin suckled his tongue before quickly grimacing and clapping a hand over his mouth as his ears glowed once again.

Another kind and apologetic smile greeted him as the tall woman stood straight once more, a bit of blonde hair slipping past the off white shoulder of her robes. Despite a very beautiful face the outfit seemed...a bit boxy on her. Though...as a religious person, it was probably the intended outcome to not reveal any of her figure.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. I certainly meant not to startle or embarrass you. I simply wished to offer what little help I can. We all have trials we face in life. It is my mission and my joy to assist those in need."

Could this have been the result of him wanting to turn to a god to pray? He could feel his cheeks heating yet again, watching the radiance of the sincere and benevolent individual before him. Would it be alright to take up an offer of assistance?

"At the very least, I can give you sanctuary for the night. It is going to be a bit colder than we've had and I'm sure a bath and a hot meal would help to rejuvenate you."

Gods, she was a saint. Even if he meant to be humble and think hard about accepting the stranger's kindness, his face lit up and eyes nearly sparkled at the notion. She noticed it too; her own face brightening  as a hand motioned him to follow.

"Please, don't be shy. Naga's children all deserve to be shown some kindness in their lives."

\---

Bubbles billowed from his lips, rolling and popping at the surface just below his nose as he continued to buzz his lips in the act of effervescence.

“It’s truly not something to further concern yourself with. It was an honest mistake, I bear no ill will.”

Though the comment was soothing and entirely genuine in their attempts to reassure him, Robin was nearly choking on the hot water, sputtering ungracefully before promptly sinking himself further below the surface; body ruddy in his mortification.

As hungry as he was upon being so kindly invited into the sanctuary presented to him, when he had been offered the opportunity to bathe, he readily cast aside his earlier priorities and barely withheld dancing outside the bath chambers as it was being drawn.

As he was shedding his clothing, however, he was all but scared half to death for a second time that evening as the same voice caught him in the midst of stripping. Requesting Robin leave his clothing to be washed, on top of meandering in while he was half nude, it was a surprise the white haired boy didn’t slip on the slick tile and die a pathetic death.

“Y—You needn’t burden yourself with such things! A lady of your prominence shouldn’t touch my sullied clothing; p-please leave me to take care of my belongings, miss!” be babbled, awkwardly caught between pulling his clothing back on or keeping them steady enough to remain decent.

Robin, however flustered and skittish, appeared to be the only one of the two who was embarrassed. His curiosity as to why did not last long at all.

“Actually, I am a man.”

His mortification took an entirely different route. The memory of it, however fresh it was and however recent was one Robin hoped to eradicate through forced retention repression.  Ears arguably a permanent shade of red at this point, Robin was lolling his head forward and immersing his face into the water.

Perhaps he could drown this way.

“If it serves to put your mind at ease, you are certainly not the first to call me as such.” A soft chuckle rose while the grubby articles were gathered up in _his_ arms.  
  
_No wonder his outfit is the same as the rest of the clergymen_.  
  
“I’ve even been courted under the notion that I was a woman. Certainly…an interesting experience.” A small cough punctuated the statement while only a slight relief spread through the soaked, white haired vagabond.  At the very least, it hadn’t gotten _that_ far.  
  
“Still, my original statement stands, you don’t need to wait on me hand and foot. Really, this is more than enough.” His voice was still weak from the devastating blow of humiliation. “I can certainly wash my own clothing. I’m sure you’ve got your hands full with your other responsibilities.” Sitting a bit straighter and wiping warm water from his face, he could see the blonde head shaking from here.  
  
“It’s no trouble. I meant what I said when I would like to see you rest and get your fill tonight. I’ll leave a fresh set of robes for you to wear in the meantime.” Robin could not help it, even felt immediate guilt for thinking as such, but he was tense for a moment as he remembered his citizenship documents were tucked away in those very clothes. It was highly unlikely that this was some sort of elaborate rouse to take his last valuable item, but it seemed his mind always churned out every possible scenario during interactions, whether he wanted the two cents or not.

One could not control the process of the mind, and Robin knew he would not act upon such suspicions. Especially not toward someone as seemingly genuine, no matter how he deliberated the likelihood of ploy, naivety, and deception. He would learn to trust the right people, and despite his skepticism, he believed this man deserved it.

“My name is Libra. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask me or my fellow clergymen.”

And with that, Robin was left to his solitude.  With the hush of the bath and the heat of the water, a calm settled over him. Scooping up a handful of water and letting it fall through his fingers, he tried to recall the name of the god Libra had mentioned. Though his circumstances certainly influenced his interest in the deity, it piqued his curiosity in a peculiar manner.

Like he’d heard it before…

His throat went dry, eyes widening as he stared at the beads of water collected on his palm. He couldn’t guarantee it was a lead, but he wasn’t sure what else to call the sensation in his gut. His fingers slowly curled into a fist, squeezing once or twice before letting it loosen.

_Oh—right—_

With a level of hesitance, Robin was turning his hand over to inspect the insignia he had thoroughly ignored upon discovering it, almost having forgotten it existed at all as he’d not changed in nearly a fortnight. Yet any and all apprehension he had at taking a moment to fully study it vanished upon discovering said mark had also disappeared.

He squinted, drawing the back of his hand closer in disbelief, angling the appendage to catch the light while his thumb swiped bits of liquid from his skin as best he could.

Nothing.

Flexing his fingers, he was letting it go and lowering it into the water, leaning his head back against the rim of the basin and stared up at the abstract plumes of steam.

His tongue pulsed slightly as a bit of blood beaded against his lip.

\---

Please let me know how you are enjoying our story! And please feel free to enjoy how you like!


	3. Ripple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lendra: To reiterate what is in the ending notes, I GOT ENGAGED! BC proposed to me this year, AS CHROM NO LESS!! This is a picture of it if anyone's curious. It's extremely nerdy so you have been warned.
> 
> http://img10.deviantart.net/42f7/i/2016/354/b/b/the_wind_at_my_back_and_the_sword_at_my_side_by_bleachcakecosplay-dasa2r0.jpg
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the chapter!

_Archanea; the mother continent to what is currently known as the country of Ylisse. Home to the Kingdom of Regna Ferox, the theocracy Plegia and the Halidom of Ylisse, it is a vast land bordered by the ocean and neighbor to the great continent of Valm._ _The history of the founding of Archanea is rich with glory, betrayal, righteousness, retribution; a legend in its own right cracked betwixt dragon and man, right and wrong and the chasm of moral ambiguity that lies between._ A silvery brow quirked upward.

As it seemed, whomever documented such a piece was quite passionate about history. With an amused sniff of laughter, Robin could feel the spark of excitement that began to thunder through him like the rush of an enormous waterfall that you could only just hear in the distance.

Hunkering down, he eagerly continued reading the passage; a glitter to his russet eyes licked by the gold scarlet curls of candlelight.

_It is written that one of the most famous historical figures coupled with the history of Archanea is that of Adrah; founder of the Kingdom of Archanea and renowned for his acquiring the Shield of Seals. This, however, is but a falsehood in light of the depths of this continent and its antiquity._

_Archanea and her roots rightfully belonged to that of the Divine Dragon Tribe, and leader of said tribe was none other than the divine dragon themselves, Naga. As it has come to the awareness of the historians and archeologists of our time, the catastrophe that befell the Divine Dragon Tribe was of the psychological sort; a wretched undoing and a curse extended to both mind and body._

_To preserve mankind and all life threatened by the ferocity that plagued her kind, Naga and his followers accepted the fate of becoming Manakete; sacrificing their true forms as dragon to enter into limbo crossed with mankind; not truly human, nor truly dragon. It was an act of humility to preserve their sanity, and much of the Divine Dragon Tribe opposed it._

_It was Naga and her followers that lead the Earth Dragons and those who refused to become Manakete to be sealed within The Dragon’s Table; a spiraling structure of earth engulfed in shadow and magic._

“Robin…”

_It was with the creation of the Shield of Seals that Naga hoped to ensure the infinite torpor of those encased within The Dragon’s Table and appointed Medeus, a prince of the Earth Dragon’s royal family and one of the few to accept fate as a Manakete, to guard the Dragon’s Table in its entirety._

“Robin _—”_

_It was Naga’s sacrifice that created his daughter, Tiki, hoping to plant the seed of salvation for the coming generations of mankind and Manakete alike. However, Medeus and Adrah were not factors which Naga and his followers were able to-_

“Robin!!”

The rush, the pounding flow of water crashing down to rocks and rivers below, the pinnacle of excitement he so fervently awaited with every coming passage was abruptly extinguished as blinding sunlight suddenly filtered the small enclosure he occupied; chasing away the shadows of feigned nightfall with such rapidity, spots burst in his vision.

Quite obviously startled, Robin jolted upright and promptly struck his head against the thick wooden shelving directly above him. He hissed, recoiling slightly and cupped a hand over the smarting region before registering that his blunder was not done in private.

As though they would have disappeared if he did so, Robin turned quite slowly, peering abashedly around his forearm with his hand still atop his head. Of course, it was not so, and Robin remained under stern speculation of the individual glowering at him from above.

“…Morning?” He attempted at humor, as though the blue and purple crescents beneath his eyes were not indication enough that he’d been up all night.

His luck was not so bad, so it seemed. The severe spectator let out a heavy sigh, the tension of their body releasing as they shook their head and dropped into a squat beside him.

“Yes. Morning.” They affirmed, pinching the wick of the candle between their fingers and putting out the small flickering flame.

His name was Irving.

He certainly wasn’t the lenient kind of keeper, somewhat lanky and physically peculiar in the face, yet Robin’s affinity for literature could not help but win over some amicable aspect of the fastidious librarian. At the very least, it earned him an occasional breakfast, which was far better than none.

The pay, small as it was, was also better than nothing at all. Despite the amount he had made as a guard, it had been inconsistent, not to mention nerve-wracking. Better to make a few copper and silver coins sorting books than make gold risking his neck. And the true payback for him was the access he had to the seemingly unlimited records.  
  
The royal family obviously valued the rich history of this continent. Such was made abundantly clear by the sheer size of the structure. Many corridors and extra floors had been added just recently. It had all been constructed rather seamlessly, but with a closer look, one could see where the new wood and stone began, standing out crisply against the loved floors of the main section of the library. The thick lines had been blended by runners and rich drapery made specifically to match the rest of the palatial interior.  
  
Was the royal palace even this well decorated? Or perhaps this sort of internal design just tickled Robin’s fancy. The workers and patrons all skimmed through daily, seeming rather lackluster in the presence of antique charm. Their loss.  
  
Arms extending high above his head, Robin let many of the delicate kinks in his back suddenly release in a cascade of small pops, rushing relief down his spine with a small groan of satisfaction. He really had been hunched over much longer than he realized.

The librarian had shown himself out rather quickly, though not before dishing out a list of what Robin's daily tasks would be. Mostly the usual, really only varying in what section he'd be sorting through or what extra cleaning he'd be tending. Medical dictionaries...he hadn't the chance to browse those, yet. Though due to a slight sense of squeamishness he had been endowed with, it seemed best not to exert too much in the studies. He was no healer.

It took only a matter of rinsing his face in a small, low basin in his attic room and gobbling up a light breakfast of bread and cheese before he was out of his quarters, rubbing sleep from his eyes and shrugging into the sleeves of his vest.

They were good to him here. It had made the past three weeks flow by in an instant, most of the time finding himself stimulated by several different volumes, many of which covered past events of the surrounding land; battles, romances, magic and impossible feats. It was sometimes painted in gilded heroics, sometimes a bloody stain that was recorded if only to teach future generations. Either way, he soaked in in eagerly, his mind a sponge for any sort of literature, fact or fiction.

Robin would admit, however, when he had stumbled across pieces of literature pertaining to the particular god Libra had mentioned once or twice, he had nearly dropped his priority entirely to study the content from cover to cover with a vigor unparalleled.

His simple curiosity to know more about this unknown god had budded into an equally unknown craving to learn more; his affinity for the culture that surrounded the deity an inexplicable mania. He found it painstakingly fascinating, yet it wasn’t an isolated passion so he had found.

Historical literature, tactical literature, fictional literature, and the ever-flourishing expanse of prose that opened up before him all held his attention undivided, his fervor to explore the next novel unimpeded by the vast quantities he had already consumed.

Though he would not voice as much, it was in part a kind of balm to the raw unease of his memory, or lack thereof. It pulsated like a wound at times, feeling fresh and impending, but the swells of information gifted to him through the worn and yellowed pages placated him. At the very least, he could hold general conversation without fear of suspicious speculation.

There was certainly plenty left to sort out in the scheme of things, but he was well underway – at least to the best of his ability with current conditions as they were.

He was content simply organizing shelves and sectioning material as they came in; no prerequisite of potential death was necessary and for that, Robin was quite grateful.

“Robin!”

Startled for the second time that day, Robin did well to clutch the stack of books he had gathered in his arms before they ejected from his hold due to his little spasm of surprise. Gaining composure, he turned about face to Irving who had addressed him.

“I need you to run some errands for me.” He spared Robin the trouble of shuffling across to him full handed, adjusting the circular lenses that magnified his eyes ever so slightly to sit higher on the bridge of his nose.

Errands? That was a new task.

Robin felt a scrap of gratification that he was assigned an undertaking unlike before. It could only mean he was becoming dependable and trustworthy as a charge.

Irving was extending a list to him, Robin hastily placing the pile of books in his arms atop the nearest surface before plucking the parchment from the librarian’s fingers. Briefing the material, it appeared to be a list of sorts, book titles and authors; that seemed perfectly expected.

However, alongside them were an accompaniment of coordinates, family names, businesses and other particulars of a bizarre fashion. His confusion was no mystery as his brows had guttered and his nose scrunched in inquiry.

Irving answered before Robin could say anything.

“It’s a list of books that have not been returned for an extended period of time. I keep documentation of the literature that we lend to our citizens, seeing as it would be easy to misplace a book or two and forget it in time.”

He was rounding Robin as the white-haired boy stood still, piecing it together rather reluctantly.

“On that list, you will find the book that is missing, the individual whom it was lent to, and their recorded residence.” He hefted the stack Robin had relinquished, said chestnut eyed individual suddenly feeling a desire to repo the literary cluster and clutch them tightly to his person.

“…You want me to go and find them…?”

Irving gave him a blank stare, quiet for a moment as though the answer should be obvious before bobbing his head in an unmistakable nod.

“Yes.” And with that, he turned around and made off with the duty Robin had so coveted not moments ago.

Once out of earshot, Robin gave a heavy sigh, his body sagging as the fatigue of a sleepless night made itself suddenly, begrudgingly known. Running a hand through his fluffy hair, he looked over the list once more before curling his lips in disfavor; knowing well he’d been swindled into playing errand boy.

He wasn’t feeling so gratified anymore.

\--

Pinching the bridge of his nose with forefinger and thumb, he quickly shut out the negative little remarks his subconscious so eagerly chimed. There was a roof over his head, food, and a place to sleep, not to mention the unlimited access to the history and literature. Tedious errands or not, he was still in no place to complain. It was no way to repay Libra's kindness.  
  
The mental mantra that reminded him over and over that he was fortunate became decisively much louder as he was gifted a man-sized, splintering wagon to collect the numbers of books. One of the wheels was wobbling on the axel, causing it to pull sharply to the left if anything might impede its swerving path forward. It didn't take much on cobblestone, leaving the boy of somewhat diminutive size to stumble and grunt softly as his wrists jerked against the wooden brace he led with.   
  
Air filled his lungs in an attempt at a deep, calming breath, refocusing his attentions instead of letting anger bubble at the fourth jerk against his hands. Gaze sweeping outward, his senses began to reorganize in priority. He could feel sun on his skin; a gentle warmth in the earlier morning. The air was still somewhat crisp from the dissipating condensation, leaving an aroma of sunbaked wood and wet brick to mix as the nearby buildings were heating up, business in full swing. The snap of heavy fabric pricked his ears as the nearby banners, displaying the crest of the royal family, were waving, flaunting their rich blues and small accents of white. It wasn't intimidating or imposing. The presence of authority here truly felt protective. Guardians, yet unseen, though well-advertised with the countless flags lining the inner city, were still ever present. He'd yet to hear a negative word about them.  
  
Odd, considering government was always a highly-criticized facet of any region. He shivered softly to think it could be a cult fueled praise, but the adoration didn't reek of manipulation. It felt earned. It felt genuine here.  
  
Side stepping a much larger cart crawling with different members of a large family to restock their wares, he eyed the nearby landmarks in search of the first resident on his list.

A dated almanac. That's what he was there to retrieve. It felt optimistic to expect the book wasn't already long forgotten somewhere unknown in the house.

\--

As it turned out, harboring such optimism for the recovery of the books simply wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Certainly he expected a few of the patrons to simply have forgotten and would have the novel ready at hand upon his request for it. The first of his encounters was not like that what so ever.

Even upon Robin stating the reason for his intrusion, the man who answered the door dawned an expression of incredulity that did not wane; giving the white-haired boy a very expressive once over and hiding nothing in the pejorative crook of his brows.

Robin, hyperaware of his state of dress, felt the lightest flush of humility simmer at the crest of his ears. He hadn’t exactly the luxury to purchase a new outfit, and it was only through the seemingly endless generosity and an arguable talent for procuring little miracles that Libra had salvaged what he wore to be, at the very least, presentable.

Despite Robin having turned down his offer to get new apparel, he was reconsidering paying the priest a visit after his work day was through.

“Did Lionel send you?”

Robin nearly missed the question, though was quick with his reply. 

“No, I was sent by Irving…”

Robin only just gathered that he could have said the very wrong thing for an already skeptical stranger, but to his relief, bizarre and unexpected as it was, all cynicism melted away as though it were never there from the start and the man gave a sort of snort of recognition.

“My god, _that_ little spindly critter? He’s already got people working for him?” As though Robin would have followed the familiarity of his coded conversation, the man chuckled dismissively and opened the door for him to welcome himself inside. Whatever fondness he held for Irving allowed Robin free passage into his home and though he was infinitely curious as to how, Robin thought it best to let the charm of association work its magic. 

“Come on in, that uh…what was it you said it was?”

Robin was already in, distracted by the knickknacks, trinkets and various paraphernalia decorating the walls and table tops.

“An almanac…” Robin responded automatically, paying little attention to the conversation as it were.

“Right, right. It’s bound to be here somewhere.” He muttered with seemingly little worry in his tone.

Robin already concluded there was no possible way they were going to find it.

-

He stood corrected.

Albeit two hours and counting with dust or perhaps something else smeared across the bridge of his nose and hair a fluffy mess of pale silver, Robin popped himself out of an old trunk large enough for two of him with the book thrust above his head as though it were a trophy of war. It certainly _felt_ like there had been a battle, Robin disheveled and breathless after his tireless pursuit. Even the man now named Roric gave a celebratory hurrah at the discovery and procured a bottle of mead ostensibly from thin air.

It appeared he cared little that it was still early morning.

After Robin fervently refused his offer, cheeks flushed at the exuberance of Roric’s comradery, he bid a reluctant adieu, assuming a couple of hours was far too long to be searching for one book.

However, in his time spent with Roric, he’d learned quite a bit about every little thing and had quickly befriended the eccentric individual. It was becoming a little more obvious as well that Robin was, generally speaking, very good at interacting with people and had a general chemistry that appeared to mingle well with everyone.

The following three people weren’t the best examples of said finding, but what otherwise would have been a disastrous encounter with exceptionally irritable individuals resulted in little casualty. Robin could only assume it was due to their poor people skills that they were on the list at all, seeing as actually retrieving the books they had was particularly easy after the initial confrontation.

It was to Robin’s great relief that the coincidence of the following destination led him to the doors of Margaret’s family business. He was eagerly welcomed inside by her mother and offered a plate of food by her father; hospitality enough to nearly bring him to tears with gratitude.

As Robin ballooned his cheeks with deliciously seasoned meat, having been unable to deter them from their insistent offering, Margaret’s mother Therise took it upon herself to tidy his appearance he had neglected since the early morning.

“My goodness, if you were my boy, I’d make sure you would never leave the house in such a state,” she huffed, swiping a handkerchief against his cheek and down the bridge of his nose before pausing to correct herself. “I’m sorry, _young man_ I mean.”

Robin chuckled lightly, feeling the pampering of a doting mother all the same while Malcom, the father, gifted the book, a cook book of course, with an array of dried meats and fruits.

“Margaret actually thought you were much younger as well, until you started speaking.” Therise spoke softly, as though it were some secret others would hear and care greatly for. For a moment, Robin was inquisitive until the memory of Margaret’s expression came to him, recalling she had, indeed, seemed taken aback after he’d finally managed an intelligible sentence.

It almost felt like he was reliving the memory entirely then as Margaret all but burst through the doors, bonnet askew and chest heaving while Robin nearly choked on the meat in his throat. Her curls pointed every which way and her face was stained red, reminiscent of their first encounter indeed. Malcom was quick to palm Robin’s back heavily before he choked.

“Margaret, by gods, have you no etiquette?!” Therise scolded, immediately walking forward to meticulously rearrange every hair out of place. Margaret, all the while, gulped for air and paid little mind to her mother’s fussing.

“P – It’s—They’re—”

It took her stammering over her words a few times at least before her father became reasonably impatient and gestured querulously for clarity.

“Come on now, don’t make a scene and then trip over your words,” He scolded with the expected amount of sensitivity a stern father would have.

Finally, she made a dramatic sweeping motion with her arm and pointed madly to the door leading outside.

“ _The_ _Prince!!_ ”

Silence suspended for not three seconds before a ripple of emotion swept over the room, bringing some immediately to their feet whilst painting the faces of both of Margaret’s parents with shock and inclination to disbelief.

“The…prince, love?” Her mother reiterated, picking her words carefully, as if she might have misheard her frantic daughter. Apparently seeing him about wasn’t all too incredible as many were already advancing toward the door, moved with some confidence of the claim. Even Robin found himself standing after he swallowed down the food in his throat, tears clinging to his lower lashes at the struggle.

The answer to Therise’s question came in an exasperated wheeze.

“ _Yes-”_ Slender fingers batted away her mother’s hands as they attempted to tame the wild head of curls, though Margaret took up the task herself, also not wanting to appear as disheveled and breathless as she was.

The middle-aged couple eyed one another while an excited patron finally took it upon himself to shove open the door that had been left swinging by its hinges. The rumbling of increased activity and chattering on the street seemed to supply even more credit to her cries of royalty in the area.

The pull of curiosity was too much to withstand. Despite himself, Robin wanted to catch a glimpse of one of the royal family if he could. There were scarce records of what they looked like, including a dated painting he’d seen hanging in the library of the three children gathered together, surprisingly depicted without their father, the late king of the land. Of course, with enough research, many reasons could be derived from the reputation the previous ruler carried. Even if they had love for their late father, their own country harbored little. Hosting his picture in a library for public use, erected after his war-mongering reign, felt to be in poor taste.

Shifting through the crowd now gathered, the silver-haired young man excused himself politely, though his words had been easily swallowed up, honestly outright ignored by the family as they were occupied by the excitement as well.  It was just as well; he wanted to move quickly to see the reasons for a prince to be visiting anywhere outside palace walls or designated political structures. 

Gently shouldering his way through the congestion of bodies in the doorway, he made it out onto the street where he could see people walking in an energetic stream toward various alleys and the main road, all in the same general direction. Two paces of his leather boots and suddenly he was clapping a hand over his right ear against a splintering sound not too far off, perhaps a block, maybe two away.

It was the cracking of wood, similar to an axe falling to a dry tree, though on a much larger scale. A wagon perhaps? Had there been a crash just now? The accompanying shrieks suggested it might be, though shouts followed in a cascading pattern as if voices were actually chasing after the culprit of whomever had made the disturbance. 

Robin’s height, or lack thereof, made itself begrudgingly known as he pushed himself up eagerly onto the balls of his feet to catch a glimpse of something, _anything_ as it appeared he was within the threshold of the scuffle.

An excited hush rippled through the gathered crowd, speculation concerning the commotion dappling a variety of chatter overheard and igniting exuberant gossip.  Robin tried to catch the curtails of conversation and figure out just what was happening and what the prince’s involvement with the tumult was, exactly. A few new onlookers were arriving from the mouth of an alleyway and easily able to see over the crowd. Robin decided to take initiative.

“Hey, what’s happening?” He called as he scuttled over. One of the men turned to regard him a moment before he was casting his eyes back to the scene.

“Don’t know exactly – my guess is that they’re after someone--!” Another crack drew his attention away and left Robin floundering for more answers.

“Who— _who_ is after someone?” He cried and one blessed soul among the crowd took pity on him to respond, or perhaps it was simply good timing.

“The militia!”

It was futile to pinpoint any one conversation to make heads or tails of it all, so the ivory haired boy took to his attempts at peering over the crowd once more, regardless of his earlier incapability.

Humbling as it was, he even resorted to hopping a few times though it was to no avail as traffic had halted and a barrier of bodies prevented him access. Taking a step back, he was rearing back to thrust forward and muscle his way through the crowd, but before he could take a single step, the blockade was bursting open.

In a flurry of flying debris and the chaos of townsfolk scattering about to avoid the clash, Robin was leaping backward to cling to the brick column of an awning, lifting an arm above his head to shield himself from detritus spraying through the air.

He nearly missed it, blinking rapidly as curls of earth fogged the surroundings, but unmistakably, he had seen it; the culprit to whom the militia was in pursuit. They ran by Robin like a whirlwind, clutching a book in one hand and something indistinguishable knotted around their body in a burlap sack.

Barely unable to discern the heart of the situation, Robin was unsure why he felt inclined to dash after the criminal himself, the energy of the commodity lighting a fire in his blood. He was just pitching forward before a glint of sunlight drew his eyes skyward and silhouetted by the bright glow of daylight was another individual; clad in royal blue garbs and brandishing a magnificent blade.

They were racing across the rooftops, appearing unaffected by the obstacle and even leapt over an ample gap of an alleyway with ostensible affluence. Although the audience of the citizens gathered around solidified it, Robin had deduced it the moment he’d spotted them.

Scaling the overhang of a balcony and finally jumping out of sight, sword now expertly sheathed and cape flaring to signify the last spark of his appearance was none other than the prince.

It had been a momentous moment in time, Robin feeling as though the few seconds he’d witnessed were far longer than they realistically were and yet the bedlam from seconds ago was already beginning to settle. The townsfolk, although newly instilled with energy, were picking up where they’d left off and kindled in Robin the desire to question the frequency of such anarchy. It was an incredible witnessing, one that left him buzzing with excitement and looking about for anyone to exchange mutual feelings of awe at the spectacle; Robin brimming with inquiries and theories alike.

Although gossip began to bloom and flourish among those gathered in result, Robin was unable to fashion a story any more solidified than the next person: the militia of Ylisse made chase after a perpetrator guilty of suspected robbery, and among those in pursuit was the prince.

Why royalty had, in fact, participated at all remained a mystery to the brown-eyed bookworm. Although inextricably linked, royalty had their duties and parading the streets after a cutpurse was a responsibility for guards and lower ranked members of the militia.

He wanted to explore the possibilities even further, to crack the mystery open and make sense of it, but as it appeared, daily obligations could not be dismissed for conspiracy, and he was not exempt of that himself. Perhaps come nightfall he would be able to pick Libra’s brain for any information.  With that in mind, Robin readied his one-man wagon and trotted off down an alleyway to his next destination, his mind a preoccupied revelry of philosophy and adventure.

\--

 “Mmmhh….” The speculative sound was slowly turning into a rumble of complete uncertainty as he eyed the dark, vaulted entrance of what appeared to be, well, a sewer.

In all honesty, he should have trusted his gut while seeking directions for his next stop on the long list of collections. But a shortcut had been promised and he wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to shave off a little time from the tedious venture.  He was eager to get back, to stick his nose a bit more into the current politics of this country, especially after the being who’d given him a shortcut had finally given him a piece of gossip to grasp to.

The militia was fondly named ‘The Shepherds’ and, as mixed as the reaction was about them, no one seemed to believe it was a force driven by any oppression or fear. They were simply a band of warriors that aimed to keep peace and do good in the world; a noble, if not naïve goal.

A large exhale pushed from his lungs, grip shifting on the rickety wagon now burdened with only a few books. Surely no answers would come of poking around a waterway. Maybe it could be a curious exploration for another day, but he had duties to fulfill before he could indulge in more information collecting.

Now…about where was it he’d been directed toward? There was a small building for worship and another residential block-

Tiny hairs stood straight up on the back of his neck, prickling at the collar of his shirt. He felt his body still, his sight dull for a moment as his ears strained for sound, pouring everything into listening for a moment.

A child…? He thought he’d heard a pained sound from close by. A boy…perhaps even a young woman. But it wasn’t a natural sound such as one stumbling or bumping an elbow against a doorframe. There were other voices nearby.

Someone was being hurt. It was intentional that these voices were coming from off the beaten path. It shouldn’t have really come as a surprise in such a large city, more he was surprised to have been a direct witness to crime for a second time in such a short period. 

These ‘Shepherds’ likely didn’t have time for the entire petty debauchery in such a large, bustling capitol. 

He was not so daring nor so daft as to come outright and challenge whomever it was causing harm, but he knew inherently that time was of the essence. With as much dexterity as he could manage while being hasty, Robin was deftly lowering the handle of his cart to the somewhat uneven cobblestone below; coated in dried earth and other bits of rubble as few tread along such a hidden path. 

He traveled nimbly despite his tendency for gaucherie, a similar feeling of aptitude instilled within him that he had felt when pulled into rapid hand to hand combat with Margaret’s satchel thief. His fingers feathered the cool clay walls, body nearly flush to them as he traveled closer to the private scene; keeping acute attention to the muffled noises that directed him.

He was almost startled when the threshold of the shadowed alleyway opened to reveal the scene like the curtain of a performance, Robin making sure to duck properly out of sight as soon as it did.

Robin witnessed as a man nearly twice his size was hefting the body of another with one arm and didn’t seem at all strained in the effort of doing so. With sharp eyes of russet and tawny, Robin could easily deduce it was, indeed, a child as their body was small in stature, their voice borderline prepubescent and their clothes somewhat bulky on their form. It was a rather quick sweep he made of the scene, knowing should he have to bolt, every detail was necessary. Even so, however, it was not hard to distinguish.

Rotten merchandise and shady transactions. Two men were positioned in the foreground, one of similar size and muscle as the accoster while the third was no lackey. He had the demeanor and appearance of a merchant who knew all the nooks and crannies of bad business. He was perched atop what looked like a miniature bookshelf equipped with little glass doors and an array of pouches and satchels peppered about him. To complete the visage of his villainous countenance, a cheaply rolled cigar of sorts was resting in the corner of his darkened lips; the end of it alight and smoking.

If Robin were to be honest, he couldn’t imagine how anyone, even a child, could possibly be fooled by such an apparent appearance.

Despite their obvious disadvantage, however, said child was flailing and making quite the valiant effort to detach the thick-handed grip spiraled into the lapels of his robe.

“You swindled me--! I’m not going to—ngh! I’m not going to bite my tongue and let you get away with this—let me go!” His position of powerlessness did nothing to dampen his outcry, kicking his booted feet wildly and clawing at the muscled forearm of his assailant.

Plucking the smoke between thick, grime coated fingers, the merchant was exhaling a large murky cloud, lazy in his nonchalance before picking himself off his perch; flicking stray ash after taking another large drag.

“Shut him up, we’ll get found out.” His voice was dismissive, not even remotely threatened as he didn’t even bother to witness his request being carried out. He busied himself with bending over and pulling the bookshelf up by thick leather straps embedded into it and looping it through his arms like a rucksack.

Wincing, Robin forced his eyes to remain trained even as the lackey was raising the boy and dropping him from enough height to knock the wind from his lungs upon impact with the ground; his large brimmed hat knocking off his head as chestnut hair became tussled and askew.

Anger brimmed the ivory-haired young man, feeling it a testament of will and a keen intuition that kept him from rushing the scoundrels. He wanted to spit curses at the wretched trio despite how naivety could be to blame for the exchange; especially as the boy was only just regaining a shaky composure, gasping for air with a few sputtered coughs before pushing himself upright with dubious forte.

His bottom lip was split and a seam of red was dripping down his chin.

“You won’t bite your tongue, eh?” The merchant sneered, provoking a cluster of throaty cackles from the other two as they gathered the rest of their goods, then turned his back and made off with little hurry to his step.

Maybe he’d always been a reckless person. Hell, maybe he’d even sought out conflict in the previous life he’d led before waking up to an empty field and an empty head. Even then he couldn’t imagine why he was turning and rushing back for his cart, wheels of his brain spinning fast, turning on his heel and promptly making his way back to the scene with all the rattling and creaking from his little carriage of overdue library books.

He even felt the lump of nerves rising in his throat like an unfinished meal before he forced it down the same way he was forcing himself not to act out of character when the three men and injured child turned gazes to stare at the intruder. He saw a hand go to a concealed sword handle, but he simply pressed his brows and slowed to a halt a few meters away.

“Er…I’m sorry…I was told there was a merchant who frequented this part of town with a few rare books on sale?” He’d seen what the boy held in his hand when he was dropped, and judging by the bookcase, he wasn’t wrong. He’d still have to choose every word carefully. And by that, his plan in the works meant taking on the persona of his current employer, Irving. Robin only hoped they would not read too heavily into his meager attire and rather dilapidated push cart. 

“Ehm…surely this isn’t the right place…” The skepticism on his face seemed to ease the expressions of the merchants fold. He could play the intellect with no street sense. An eager bookworm was their target and they’d certainly found that in this young boy. Gods knew where his parents were.

He was regarded with a once over from the merchant, the hard gaze assessing every stitch of his clothing, expertly searching his body and evaluating his gains, not far off from what Robin himself was doing in sizing them up, though it was more for survival rather than profit seeking.

“No, no. You’ve found the right man. We were simply dealing with the riffraff that seek to slander my name based on appearances.”

Robin felt the acid glare shot from the wobbling boy, willing him not to make any rash moves while the predicted happened.

“He sold me a book for - ten times what it’s worth! You must have heard them just now!” His voice was distorted slightly with pain and the swelling of his tongue, all of which the three men pretended to not notice.

“It was your decision to buy the tome. You clearly don’t hold the same value I have for the piece. That judgment is simply your opinion.” The manner of speaking he had adopted once meeting a potential new customer had completely changed, appealing more to the academic while their wallet was still in play. Really, a piece of work this man was. With lips downturned, Robin released the handle of his cart to approach the boy on the ground, causing the stout man on the merchant’s left to tense. They made no moves yet.

“Let me see your book.”

“He asked for a wind tome. I gave him one.”

“You said it was rare!! The cover even looked like it!!” With an outstretched hand, Robin interrupted the back and forth threatening to start once more, giving the boy with burnished hair little time to argue his side. There was a moment’s hesitation, then a small puff of breath as the book was thrust outward, the all-too-large hat readjusted on his uncombed hair.

In a silent prayer, Robin hoped none had hearing keen enough to catch the thundering of his heart.

He thumbed through the pages with an impressive poker face, recalling only vaguely having come across literature similar to it once or twice before. His memory was sparking rapid fire, grinding out every fragment of information he could as ammunition for advantage while his eyes remained collectively focused and expression poised.

A wind tome; literature inscribed with magic incantations and spells, utilized by mages. Low level from the looks of it, indicative of swindle as proclaimed by the mahogany haired boy.

Shaking his head somewhat, he broke the tenuous silence, knowing all eyes were trained on him; each individual with different expectations of him in mind.

“This looks like a basic wind tome… a particularly low level one, at that.” As predicted, the boy in his feelings of justification was immediately puffing out his chest and nearly popping off the ground in preparation for another fight. Honestly, Robin couldn’t help but admire his spunk despite his gullibility.

“See?! They tricked me!” The shift in the air was palpable, accusations ignition for an altercation, but Robin knew what waves to ride.

“Wait a minute…” his voice was soft, and yet a hush eclipsed all else; every one of them hanging off his next word and were Robin to be honest, such power was exhilarating albeit nauseating. Undoubtedly it was an incredible way to learn about himself and discover things he’d never known. As it were, he came to find he worked unbelievably well under pressure.

He only hoped he was just as good at trickery as they were.

“This-…This is amazing-!”

Despite the boy being the only one of the group to openly pitch forward and attempt a gander at whatever finding Robin had unearthed, the body language of the other three was symptomatic enough simply with the straightening of their spines or the cinching of their brows. Robin already knew they had lied, he simply reveled in the satisfaction of his aptitude to pinpoint it with miniscule nuanced quirks.

“Look- see here? This symbol...this is usually a sequence incantation to cast a simpler wind spell, _however,_ if you look far more closely, you can see that this-” he was punctuating his statement by jabbing the scroll on the page with his finger, exuberance in his chatter, “ _this_ is actually marginally altered! The script is mimicry of simple, antiquated wind tomes for novice mages but in _actuality,_ can only be performed by extremely well practiced magic users and is _exceptionally_ powerful! This tome is _coded!”_

Complete and utter claptrap.

Were Robin not on the cusp of cardiac arrest, he would have been impressed, if not concerned at his talent for storytelling. 

“I can’t believe you even managed to _buy_ such an incredible artifact!”         

Be it a miracle or whatever forces moved the sprits and aligned the stars, the mage with chestnut hair played into his wile with impeccable timing and perhaps even believed him, russet eyes widening before eagerly studying the pages for himself.

Robin took that as his opportunity to turn his attentions to the three who had become visibly stiff with skepticism.

Thick brows cinched together, jaw slightly slackened as Robin was receiving the most analytical look he could have imagined mustered from the shifty merchant. He was sure the man was not unintelligent, but it was probably rare someone ever had the guts to give him the runaround. Or the stupidity.

 Only time would tell which one held most prevalent. 

“It’s a shame the cover has been defaced, but this is an incredible find!” The ivory-haired bookworm pressed further, allowing his expression to take on as much of an excited sparkle as his acting skills could manage.  A sidelong glance came from one of the guards as they communicated silently for a moment’s time. Apparently, it was enough to spark the beginning of his desired exchange.

“I assumed this kid was smart enough to figure it out on his own when I realized he was such a quick student, but clearly I overestimated and he tried to insult my business.” His head shook with what appeared to be an attempt at soft disappointment, as if he had truly had some honorable expectation for the child he swindled. The boy with burnished hair opened his mouth to retort, still not entirely sold on the transaction he’d experienced, though his face began to burn a deep red at the idea that he could have been mistaken and childish with his behavior. 

“He won’t be able to understand it’s worth.” And with just a small look from their leader, the stouter of the two men reached back into a small chest, wrapping calloused hands over a small pouch, metallic jingling coming from the inside. He was practically stomping his way back to the child still clutching the book as it was pulled hard from his grip, replaced by a very indelicate slap of the coin pouch back into the soft palm of the small, reeling mage.

“Hey--” He choked on his words, again caught between the satisfaction of having his money back, but the strong pull of wanting to research more into the previously assumed basic tome. He only truly froze when he caught just the slightest look from the small, chestnut-eyed young man standing before the dangerously unpredictable salesman.

With goods returned to him, the full attention of the salesman was on Robin now, leaning in as he poured on the charm that was assumed to have been worked on the very same, bloodied child. Hook, line, sinker.

“Sir – I would be forever grateful to have a look at your other wares– Of course, including this tome as well!!” He patted his own pockets, allowing a look of true, troubled despair to cross his face as an intellect on the edge of a breakthrough, though held back by financial restraints; the perfect type for dishing out large sums of gold for the sake of research.

“I fear I wasn’t prepared for this kind of quality product. I’ll need to return home to retrieve a bit more before I can truly offer what’s worth for these books. I want to ensure I purchase each one I desire!” Maybe he was laying it on a bit thick now, but the merchant and his men didn’t seem the slightest put off by the display. They truly believed they were experiencing the rarity of a shut-in with very deep pockets. 

“Of course. I’d be willing to keep the shop open for a little longer so you can pick out what you like. But I can’t stay long-” The expression of discontent that crossed his face was really comparable to Robin’s own acting, he had to admit. But as one of the guard had cracked open the wind tome to look it over thoroughly himself, he was feeling the increasing urge to get away from this place before the walls caved in, so to speak. 

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll return as soon as I’m able!” Spinning on his heel and making direct eye contact with the child as he did so, he returned to his cart of books, watching the boy’s wide-eyed and dumbfounded expression as the gears in his brain were turning hard, though something compelled him to join Robin’s side as he made his way hastily from the back alley. 

“Hey – w-wait – Was that tome really –” Robin’s hand was grabbing the boy’s wrist just as they rounded the corner, his voice low and somewhat harsh as he felt the arm in his grip stiffen. He couldn’t afford to have things fall out now because this adolescent was sharper than the three criminals, although naïve enough to question Robin’s honesty within earshot. 

“ _Don’t talk – I’m helping you-_ ”

There was only a moment before clarity baptized his expression like a wave would crash against the rocky seashore, his head whipping over his shoulder before clicking forward once more. Were their situation not so dire, Robin would have been flattered at the vision of awe donning his face, though it appeared a reoccurring theme that all luxuries of emotion were suspended in light of possible survival. Drastic assumption, perhaps, but Robin felt it necessary to be prepared.

“Keep moving.” Robin instructed firmly, his fingers gripped tightly against the wooden brace of his cart and having half a mind to abandon it altogether. There was also the likelihood he was being paranoid, but every creak and clang of the decrepit dray had him wincing; teeth grit like an iron vice.

Forcing himself to take a breath, Robin rolled a shoulder in attempts to release some tension, finally breaking silence after an ample period of it had passed.

“What exactly did you have in mind when you engaged with that merchant, or were you truly unaware of his nature _?_ ” Robin endeavored to make his tone of voice as neutral as possible, but it wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination to assume he was being at least somewhat catty.  

Ruddy cheeks revealed the boy picked up on it with ease and although Robin wished to remain steadfast in his scolding, he couldn’t deny the embarrassment on the youth was charming. A bowed head and constant fidgeting was humility enough to nearly douse Robin’s smolder.

 With a light sigh of defeat, Robin was casting a look far softer at the petite mage, studying him a moment before deciding he had admonished him enough, for a stranger.

“Robin.” He stated, the boy perking inquisitive yet timid eyes up at him. Truly, he couldn’t stay angry at such a face. Chuckling lightly, he elaborated, “My name. It’s Robin.”

His invitation to introduction was well received.

“Ricken!” He chirped, his enthusiasm as well as the decibel of his voice apparently unintentional as he quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, a flush blooming across his cheeks and over the crest of his ears. After clearing his throat, he made another attempt, more reserved than the last though unable to shed the rosiness completely. “My name is Ricken.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, Robin's now softened tone parroted the name. Having awoken isolated in the surrounding fields absent of all recollection, Robin had made it a habit of repeating to himself. Perhaps it was flimsy insurance, but being without it made one focus much more on what one _could_ store to memory.

"Ricken." He could tell the small mage's anxiety was beginning to drown in enthusiasm, his posture making it appear as if he might actually come off the ground as his brimming excitement bubbled over; slightly bloodied lip entirely forgotten. In fact, he seemed to shake off what had happened almost  _too_  well. What manner of life did this child lead? With a particularly pointless sweep with chestnut eyes of the surrounding alleyways, Robin turned his attentions back to the magical youth.

"Are your parents nearby? You'll need to clean up that blo-"

Whatever reaction may have come of that statement was not to be discovered. Like the crack of a lightning bolt, the illusion of security Robin had carefully cultivated had been shattered, and a voice far too close and far too familiar was cleaving the silence in two.

" _Here!! They're here!_ " Before his head could do a full turn, Ricken's body was jerked forward, the momentum knocking the hat right off his head to tumble to the ground, abandoned on the cobblestone. It was then crushed beneath heavy footfall; Robin's hand having caught the boy’s wrist, hauling him forward once more before Ricken could wonder what the commotion was about.

The cart had been utterly abandoned. 

His thoughts were whirring, brown eyes scanning the alleyways, each door and window, each intersection as they raced forward, hearing the brutish banging and shouting of their pursuers behind.

 _They know. I don't know what tipped them off -- but we're dead if they catch us. They'll mark us as thieves for justification if the guards come_.

Another clash. Gods, were there  _four_  of them?! Perhaps another had been skulking around, had even caught the candid conversation following Robin and Ricken's initial escape and reported back. Either way, he was not inclined to turn and inquire just before a blade cleaved his head clean off. 

Robin briefly considered having Ricken break off to hide while he drew their adversaries off elsewhere. However, he couldn't be sure of their numbers and judging by the state of things established previously, the child couldn't exactly fend for himself against so many.

"Ricken!! Stay close to me!" He barked, though surprisingly, after his initial shock, the stringy mage seemed quite able to keep up to his pace, though the skin below his mousey hair was pallid as the snowy mountain caps he'd read of in the north. Likely, he wouldn't be able to help much.

But what of the tome?

“You study magic, right?! Do you have any tomes with you?!”

Startling, it appeared Ricken had not expected to be addressed, nearly tripping though caught himself before he did so.  He was rapidly patting himself down, having forgotten the placements of his belongings in his panic and Robin was tempted in telling him to forget it altogether; the smaller boy having slowed his pace unintentionally as he searched.

It was a tossup between taking the time to ensure some measures of resistance or keeping a lead on those in pursuit. Split decision making had been an unexpected forte of his, thus Robin locked on the former and clutched Ricken’s coat sleeve to duck the two of them around a corner.

Luck held out thus far as Ricken did not pause to question Robin’s motives and frantically rifled the thick and heavy fabrics of his cloak before vivaciously procuring a book from within. Robin was amidst an exclamation of small triumph, but Ricken’s expression throughout the ordeal had stayed his excitement. His small grip on the hardcover was tight and his brows were heavily knit.

“It’s a thunder tome…”

Robin stared, unable to discern the coded meaning behind Ricken’s statement.

“Is that a problem?” Robin was nearly vibrating with anxiety, the precipice of their peril licking viciously at their heels. There had yet to be another verbal exchange among those making chase, but the ivory haired boy was not naïve enough to slip into a false sense of security a second time. Ricken was whipping a somewhat mortified expression up to his impromptu savior, face a bizarre balance of being ashen with dread and flushed with humility.

“I-… I don’t know how to cast from thunder tomes.”

Robin donned an expression of white hot incredulity.

“ _What?!”_

 A burst of crates that populated the entrance of the alleyway was enough of an alert, Robin scrambling to action once more and with a particular lack of tenderness, pushed Ricken into motion in front of him and both burst into full sprint. He didn’t dare look back to see just how close their assailants were behind them. Hearing the substantial thudding of booted feet against the packed earth and scattered stones of the alley told enough.

They were close; far too close for comfort.

“Why do you have a thunder tome if you can’t _cast_ from it?!” It was pointless to berate the boy, but Robin felt inexplicably compelled to express his frustrations. Though Ricken held no responsibility for Robin’s decision to extend his aid, he couldn’t help feeling slighted by the mage’s apparent lack of common survival skills.

Then again, it shouldn’t have been a priority to prepare for potentially fatal combat when engaging with merchants.

There was no time; neither were long legged, and their pursuant was closing in rapidly. Hair was bristling on the back of Robin’s neck, his pulse thrumming like a heavy drum beat in his ears. Instinct was clawing his gut, sharp and electrically charged and in a blinding moment of reverie, Robin was taking action.

“I’m studying magic, I have to learn differe—” Ricken did not finish his statement. Robin had thrust an arm outward and with an incredible amount of accuracy and force, shoved the mage’s small body down and at an angle; avoiding the slicing swing of a blade that would have easily hewed their bodies at the neck.

In a burst of primal reflex, Robin’s body twisted and he positioned himself to face off their opponent who had, presumably, expected to strike them dead and was recovering from the impetus of a blow not landed. With luck insurmountable, or perhaps it was something more predictable than previously imagined, Robin was securing a weapon in the form of a wooden mattenklobber snaked with whicker at the flare of its head. The old dust beater was splintering in places and was likely abandoned, its new purpose found in the steady clutch of Robin’s palm as he braced the makeshift blade in wait of the next attack.

Reminiscent of the fleeting skirmish with the cutpurse, the silver-haired amnesiac had tapped into the current of battle like the nature of a combat weathered veteran with a mind sharp for strategy. The assailant was thickly built and broad across the shoulders. With arms like his, cuts from his blade that landed would be fatal, if not with the initial infliction, then with inevitable blood loss from cost of limb or laceration. But his size was a disadvantage, and his legs were poorly guarded; resulting in swings that were heavy and powerful but relatively slow, should he pour all his strength into one blow.

The first few consisted of such.

Clearly, the blade wielding brute had not expected to be unsuccessful with his attacks multiple times in a row. But as he squared off and made slice after slice, Robin dodged and parried each one that followed; eyes nearly glowing with concentration with pupils blown wide.

It was an incredible sight to see someone moving so confidently while wearing the white mask of sheer dread. It was as if his brain was expecting mistakes but his limbs had yet to create them; blocking strikes and deflecting blows with expert dexterity and commendable footwork despite poor conditions of the ground.

But the encounter couldn't last much longer.

Another wild slice and suddenly the top was missing from Robin's only line of defense, clattering loudly against the packed earth and stone. He no longer had the reach to get inside the attacker's defense and sweep for his ankles. His opportunity was gone and, likely, his life with the pace it was going. 

A hiss rushed through his clenched teeth at the jarring in his elbow as he met another blow. It was an attempt to parry the blade and slide the weight away from his body's center without taking the brunt of the strike with his own arms, leaving the other wide open for a counter. Ill fortune befell him as the edge caught in a stray piece of whicker and the whole rod was being wrenched from his hands, leaving himself defenseless instead. 

His ears were ringing now. Robin’s frozen gaze watched as the two dark coals inlaid in the man’s head where eyes should have resided pinned him down, realizing the sudden opening and rearing back all his weight to take it.

Should he jump back?

No, he didn’t have the time; he’d still be caught in the leg or the middle, then it was a matter of just hacking up the rest of his body while he was reeling. And what of the child? The boy was still standing there, now wearing an expression of horror all his own, having yet to run.

“ _Ricken!!”_  It was sharp, though not a plea for help as one might have expected. It felt like a desperate command, one to propel the boy to motion; fast and far away from there; but there was little time to see what the reaction might have been. The blade came down and Robin only had time to shrink beneath the blow with arms up out of sheer instinct to protect his head.

The anticipated scream cut the air, though it was not his own, and it came paired with something else. The sound was accompanied by fleeting flares of color and distortion in the surrounding atmosphere, a low crackling that turned to an earsplitting shriek like a saw blade against stone, though only momentarily. Then it was gone and Robin was left, crouching in the wake.

Both winded boys stood, utterly stunned in the billowing smoke and dust, the body of the hulking man now several yards away, still sizzling with energy and wafting with the scent of seared flesh. 

There was no doubt. He was dead. 

Attempting to make sense of the ordeal was nigh impossible, neither having seen exactly what had happened and when Robin whipped frantically about to pinpoint a source, he was left with none what so ever.

Perhaps if he’d been given some manner of time to examine the body and the surrounding location, he could have come up with an answer of some sort, but such was not his luxury. Senses heightened, hyper vigilant from his intimate dance with life and death not moments ago, Robin’s head snapped up to see the figure of a man encroaching rapidly from the end of the alleyway and, upon seeing the body of his comrade, burst into a sprint with a curse screaming from his lips.

“Ricken, _go!”_ Robin barked, body turning to dash the other way, but rushing the mouth of the opposite end was yet another assailant; the group having flanked the boys in an excessive endeavor to ensure their demise. The merchant was displaying a despicably brazen pride worthy of spitting at his feet.

Blood rushing his ears, the walls pounding with his heartbeat, Robin was thrusting his hand out to the mage petrified to stillness beside him.

“The tome-!”

Ricken startled, looking to Robin’s face then his outstretched hand in baulking uncertainty as he hadn’t the capacity nor the reflexes to understand Robin’s request; trying to fervently catch up on the events and nearly frozen in anxiety.

“ _The tome- give me the tome!!”_ Having turned his eyes blazing with adrenaline and roared with a voice that carried far, Ricken burst into action, procuring the book and thrusting it into Robin’s outstretched hand.

They had no time to experiment or gain footing, no time to question capability or probability. In a flurry of motion Robin could make little sense of, his body repositioned and, throwing the book open, he whipped out his arm and cried out an incantation that came from somewhere deep inside and imperceptible.

Instantaneously, a storm of electricity was bursting from the pages and the palm of his hand, firing in charged sparks from his fingertips and igniting the alleyway in a torrent of golden light. It charged the body it was aimed for, rippling through him in a merciless current and within seconds, he toppled to the ground in a lifeless charred heap.

Allowed only a breath, Robin pivoted about face and threw his arm up once more to call upon a second maelstrom of lightning. The target had gained considerable ground and was nearly upon them when Robin struck, so close that the intensity of the magical tempest blew its caster off his feet. In seconds, it was over, Robin having been blown back and his feet swept from beneath him; landing in a rough thud against the earth before he was thrusting himself upright in preparation for further attack.

But as he swallowed gulps of air, the barrel of his chest rising and falling as he panted and peered forward, he was met only with a blackened, smoking body effectively disarmed and dead.

Despite the bodies that now lay motionless about the two rather shaken young men, Robin didn’t drop his guard. Three…only three bodies were accounted for. There had been a fourth in pursuit.

His eyes darted from one end of the alley to the next, even up toward the thatching above them, but he only managed to catch sight of what appeared to be the head of an older male, skin a bit more weathered by the elements, though certainly not graying any. But his burnished head of hair was gone after observing shortly the work below. If he were the fourth, he clearly had no interest to engage.

Shouts began to echo, calls for guards as the commotion had certainly alerted citizens within earshot. The more morbidly curious were appearing by the mouth of the alley, though many shuddered back at the sight of the first body that had fallen; shredded and spattered against the packed earth. Grisly didn’t seem to quite describe the state of his form.

It was their reactions that brought Robin’s own attention to the corpse, having the time now to regard the phenomenon, even if only for a moment. The guards would surely be upon them within moments for questions. There was no way to explain what was left of the brigand. 

Shock rattled once more through the tightly wound bunches of muscle that kept him at attention, though the small hands that gripped at him were not that of guards, or of further attackers. His first set of questionings was from a far more unanticipated source.

“You  _cast?!_  But you used that stick like a swordsman!! And that smooth talking you did before-!!” Robin had to wince back at the assault on his eardrums, still rather shell-shocked that it was the tiny mage who was clinging to him and spouting exclamations as if he’d just watched a sporting match.

Did he have any sense of the death he’d witnessed just then?!

Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, Robin could only gape, flabbergasted by Ricken’s enthusiasm and capable of stammering out just a few oblong vowels and consonances before the voices of the fast encroaching guards commanded all his attention. With composure reborn, Robin was stiffening and taking hold of Ricken’s sleeve to make a mad dash.

“Come on, we need to go!”

When Robin pitched forward to run, however, Ricken was not in any hurry to follow, causing the silver-haired boy to nearly stumble in the process. He belted panicked russet eyes back to the young mage with mahogany hair who only returned a puzzled look back to him in response.

“Why…do we need to go?”

Robin felt as though he was slowly garnering the disposition to abandon the boy, giving Ricken an incredulous look before raising his gaze to peer beyond the petite magician to the mouth of the alley; stiffening as men garbed unmistakably in royal livery of Ylisse’s navy blues were fast approaching.

Anxiety gripped him, his body going cold as his gaze snapped to the other end of the narrow backstreet to see it empty and tempting his desire to flee, yet he knew well if he turned his back and made a break for it, there would be virtually zero possibility of clearing his name of any treachery, yet he and the now presumably half daft boy were the only suspects to be had.

Not to mention, he was a questionable citizen at best; a flimsy memory with only papers to prove himself.

He didn’t have time to think, by then the men were upon them and he was entirely exposed under the eyes of the country’s defenders.

“What happened here.”

Robin could feel the blood draining from his face, fervently avoiding eye contact yet knowing silence would only condemn him all the more. With a thick swallow, Robin parted his lips to speak, to say _something_ and yet it was Ricken’s voice that was cutting in.

“I was investigating rumors of a self-proclaimed merchant that was lurking in this area. I found him, but things…kind of got out of hand.” Abashedly, Ricken was lowering his head as though his incapability to handle the situation was more worrisome than the charred remains of their assailants that were still smoldering just a stone’s throw away.

Robin was on the precipice of cardiac arrest for a second time.

Under the harsh scrutiny of the lightly armored men, the brown-eyed boy was absolutely certain Ricken’s sloppily assembled explanation, no matter how sincere, would end with the two of them in shackles, or worse. And yet, when Robin apprehensively peered up, expectant of expressions keen with accusation, he was instead met with faces of perplexity and borderline indifference.

“… _You…_ did this?”

One of the guards finally spoke, observing the rather gruesome detritus in one sweep of his gaze before planting it disbelievingly back on Ricken. Neither looked terribly heartbroken about the men who were visibly slaughtered and for the first time, Robin truly came to realize why, exactly, those books had never been recovered.

They were in an exponentially more dangerous part of the city than he had originally believed.

The guards looked far more surprised to see a young kid unharmed amidst the chaos, something apparently unsurprising in such a location, and were more concerned with how it had taken place rather than who to blame for it. Briefly, Robin wondered if they’d known of such transgressions and were hoping for an excuse to finally take action.

When a pair of eyes from one of the men lifted to him, Robin visibly twitched, yet Ricken was, once again, diverting all attention back unto himself. For whatever reason, humiliation had dissipated and had been swiftly replaced with defensiveness.

“Excuse me? I’m a member of Shepherds, I’ll have you know!”

Robin almost choked.

Ricken was then procuring a bit parchment from within his glove to present to them, carefully folded and obviously well-loved as he had no trouble locating it like he had with his books of far greater size. As though a festivity of synapsis had fired, both men were whipping their attention right back to the petite mage and Robin was left to try and fill the gaps while silently praising Ricken for his tendency to garner a scene; leaving the silver haired amnesiac to hide in the sanctuary of his metaphorical shadow.

That, and Robin was rendered incapable of speech momentarily as he was attempting to comprehend how he had become acquainted with a member the eminent militia he’d quite recently learned.

“The _Shepherds?”_ One chimed while the other cut in.

“So you _did_ do this?”

Ricken stiffened slightly, lips pressing together as his gaze flickered to the side and indicated quite clearly that he wasn’t exactly what they would consider as the one responsible for the altercation. Reared by their sense of duty once more, they were losing interest in the technicalities and, with callous apathy, or perhaps Robin was a bit too empathetic toward a group of thugs who had undeniably tried to murder a young boy over a book, the guards were then ushering the two of them around the corpses as though they were nothing more than dismantled furniture pieces left scattered about the packed earth, and hence escorted them out of the alley.

“Listen, Shepherd or no Shepherd, this isn’t a place to scout on your own. We aren’t finished purging the city of scum like this and I know I’d rather not come across the body of a child because he thought he could help.”

Where Robin aptly agreed, and honestly, he didn’t have the kind of constitution to debate at the moment, Ricken’s expression was somewhat disheartening as he quite obviously wanted to defend himself but apparently read the mood and kept silent.

Once accompanied to what was presumably a safe part of the block, both Ricken and Robin were deposited to their free will once more. Just before they departed, however, one guard made a point of leaning in to Robin just slightly and spoke low so his voice would not carry very far.

“Those men? They were a vile group. Good job back there.”

Stunned, Robin simply blinked before nodding once, and just like that, they turned and went.

Having started with a fear of being detained, tried or possibly executed, Robin had come quite a long way in his spectrum of emotions as he was trying to properly process praise of all things. Ricken was admittedly put out and although it was _true_ that Robin was the sole instigator, it certainly didn’t help any that Ricken had been so readily dismissed as a possible associate. 

Admittedly, he _was_ the first to engage them, though that likely would have resulted quite contrary to what had happened. Robin was simply pleased they made it out alive, and without the adornment of cuffs of chains.

Ricken’s pout was quite adorable, however, no matter how pitiable though it was also likely that Robin was on the verge of losing his mind and was basking in thoughtless simplicity.

Rigorously, he shook his head, casting away all lunacy as best he could and ran a hand through his fluffy hair haphazardly.

“Wow, alright…well…” he pressed a palm to his forehead and drew back the fringe of silver while brown eyes were blown wide and he sputtered his lips in a comically awkward exhale.

“ _That_ happened…” 

Clearing his throat, Robin was attempting eloquence.

“Listen, I don’t know what you had in mind, but you can’t be foolhardy, even if it’s for a decent cause…though I admire your bravado.”

Ricken made no effort to fill the silence, his face coiled in concentration and were it a second longer, Robin would have inquired if he was alright; if the adrenaline was wearing off to finally reveal the revulsion and horror of their encounter. But it was in that moment that Robin was struck with realization and all at once, his body was practically buckling in nigh hopelessness.

He had abandoned the cart of books somewhere in the labyrinth of alleyways and with it, the faith Irving had somewhat reluctantly bestowed upon him to retrieve them.

Restraining the desire to cuss, Robin roughly dragged his hands down his face as he quite rapidly came to the loath decision that he _had_ to recover them. His livelihood depended on it, after all.  Sliding one last look to Ricken who had, by all means, retreated into his head and couldn’t be bothered, Robin huffed before turning about face and began his begrudging journey back into the fray.

“Stay out of trouble.” He called back and assumed that would be the end of it.

“Wait!” The young voice, nearly cracking at that age, called out again and were Robin not a kind person by default, he might have ignored the cry. But it stiledl his pace just enough to inquire, though his impatience was relayed in the quick patter of his feet running in place. 

“Look – I really need to go back and collect my books – They’re not even mine, the library-”

Robin’s words were cut short with a near yelp as the young mage was suddenly upon him, grappling at his arm with eyes wide and body language perhaps twice as lively and impatient as his own. 

“Forget the books – If something happens –ah, I’m sure we can get them reimbursed. I need you to come with me!” The stammering didn’t seem to come from uncertainty; rather the boy was tripping over his words out of pure gushing excitement. Who was this child that he could so easily say he’d cover an expense like that? What was this paramilitary and was he truly a member? Either there was something truly extraordinary about him…or perhaps he was a bit daft after all. 

And yet, the soldiers had honored whatever parchment he’d produced in retaliation to being scolded for involving himself with criminals. ‘The Shepherds’, he’d said. It wasn’t Robin’s first time hearing that, but there still didn’t seem like there could possibly be a connection with this child and a potential military force.

What manner of country was he in, truly? Perhaps his parents were supporters of the cause, so the title was honorary. 

“Ricken…” He sounded a bit more exasperated than he meant to, but he still hadn’t quite digested the events himself. They hadn’t simply turned the men in. Robin had taken more than one life that day, self-defense or not. That was something that deserved some deep reflection once in the sanctuary of his dark corner of the Capitol library.  Robin could only play to the most basic common sense at the moment, seeing as death had left this child largely unperturbed.

“I’ll lose my job if I-”

“I have another job for you! I – I’ll have some soldiers collect the books! You need to come with me!” A small cry of surprise was all he was allowed as the excitable mage then pulled Robin forward without regard to his protests. The tone of voice suggested the books were of little importance to whatever destination Ricken had in mind. As a boy who studied magic, whose livelihood likely depended on books, it left the impression this was no small matter. It was the only thing that stayed Robin’s tongue for the moment, though whether that would be a wise decision or not would remain to be seen.

For a time, Robin allowed a silence between them as the mage with mahogany hair darted through the bustling streets of the city and seemingly would stop at nothing. Somewhere along the lines, the silver-haired tagalong had expected them to take a sharp turn into some quaint arrangement of alleyways that contorted into a snug little nook, charmingly hidden and adorning a doorway into a fantastical little home of misfits.

It was only when Robin had realized he’d allowed his imagination to run away with him that he decided to inquire further, perturbed at the inexplicable circumstance and once again ruffled at the likelihood of being lead about by the nose. He would not cast off the allure of adventure, but three men were dead on his account and he wasn’t sure he’d be proficient in stomaching further manslaughter.

Indeed, he and the bizarre boy would have been dead themselves had he not taken action, but there was still the troubling nature of his unanticipated talents.

He had entertained the idea that he’d been potentially involved in illicit affairs yet it had never felt so real as in it did then; having stubbornly refused to glance the back of his hand for fear that ominous mark would have resurfaced. A large part of himself insisted he count his lucky stars he survived and simply move forward.

A larger part of him however wanted a definite answer as to where in the gods’ names Ricken was leading him.

“Ricken—Ricken! Where are we going?”

Be it the boy’s fervor or perhaps something else, he did not answer. Instead, he turned back and urgently advised Robin ‘hurry up’ before turning back forward and tugging him eagerly through what felt like the most cumbersome assembly of market goers, merchants, and a smattering of whomever else wished to congregate along their path.

Obediently, Robin followed, offering rushed apologies to anyone he’d nicked or nudged, which was quite a few, and hence made every effort to avoid eye contact as they were garnering quizzical looks in their swift passing.

Once they had breached the threshold of the throngs of townsfolk, Robin was making another attempt, this time coaching himself to sound firm and unable to be ignored. For good measure, Robin was tugging his wrist from the petite clutches of the mage which resulted in him turning about face to regard the brown-eyed bibliophile with a somewhat stunned expression.

“Ricken, I need an answer; _where are we going?_ ”

For a moment, Ricken simply stared, as if waiting for a veil of jest to be lifted. When such did not commence, he cocked his in an adorably puzzled manner and said with spectacular simplicity.

“The castle, of course.”

Robin felt as if he’d been punched in the solar plexus.

The castle _, of course._

“ _What?!”_

His voice echoed, yet Ricken remained unfazed by Robin’s vivacious incredulity and, quite hastily, took up his arm to press forward once more.

“Come on, let’s go!”

And with that, Robin was promptly being towed along without further discussion.

-

‘The castle’, as he’d put it. Not to be mistaken for a noble’s manor or perhaps the grand, high vaulted arches of the church. No, when one said ‘the castle’ it was hard to picture anything aside from the great structure up on the hill, cleared of most of its surrounding trees to give a view down to the city below. An intimidating assembly at first glance, but the denizens themselves had looked upon it with such reverence.  There had been the fleeting gripe of how the castle soldiers weren’t taking enough action against the rise of banditry on their borders and within, but it was by far the seemingly less popular opinion.

This was where the exalt resided, someone of immense grace and patience, as he’d heard. But this boy was not of royal blood, he was sure. He did not wear clothing that suggested he was a courtier, either. Not to mention his assumed age and the way the guard had brushed him off.   
  
There was still no doubt this boy had some authority over the common person, however. Whether or not he was simply sheltered and did not truly understand his limitations or politics was another question entirely.  Robin simply hoped this wouldn’t stir bad relations with the royal government and himself by accepting an on the spot invitation from a child.  
  
They met the thick outer wall surrounding the outskirts of the castle grounds and Robin could feel his spine become rigid as he tried not to look the guards straight in the eye while simultaneously attempting to not look suspicious. An impossible task, surely. They were upon the threshold much faster than he would have liked, mostly due to Ricken’s tugging, but with only a small glance in his direction, both guards simply continued looking out from their post, making no move to intercept in the slightest until they were met with another merchant who followed up from behind, trudging up the hill with his cart full of precious cloth and other ornery items. 

He didn’t dare look back, but Robin could hear them asking for papers and for a purpose as to why the man was looking to visit the House of Ylisse.

They had just walked right through, not a lash batted at either one. But as impressed as he was, Robin could only feel his anxiety build as he was brought further up the hill, becoming even slightly winded with the steep trip upward. The real task would be getting through these walls; the ones that housed the castle itself and the other capitol buildings surrounding it. Surely all they would find beyond these gates were the finely dressed people of the court, politicians, council members, and the royal guard. Perhaps servants and other grounds keepers, but no one of common blood simply wandering in as Robin himself was about to do.

Hopefully the worst that would come of it was just that they would turn him away with a scoff. He’d been at the wrong end of a sword far too much for one day.

The castle grounds stretched out before him as he would imagine any prestigious and esteemed estate would, yet even having been prepared, Robin was awed by its subtle beauty; the aesthetics of the landscaping, gardening and architecture. They hadn’t even seen the full breadth of the castle’s environments or whatever royal gardens it had to boast of.  He almost dreaded its excellence; his ordinary self blatantly juxtaposed and he quite obviously did not belong.

Ricken, on the other hand, seemed entirely at home. He was trouncing along the pathway he’d designated without hesitation, as though he had plodded the route numerous times before and Robin was beginning to believe he undeniably had. He paid little regard to the spectacle of the reaching castle spires, the grandiose arrangement of granite and marble with beautifully tempered glass intermittently positioned across the canvas of stone. Some were stained a variety of colors in a beautiful depiction of something celestial, and if not that then a glass painting of the royal family and its celebrated history.  

From Robin’s position, he had to crane his head back at an unpleasant angle to see the castle peaks, and even then, they were faded into the blue distance of sky; unfathomably high and kissing the clouds like well-known lovers.

He nearly tripped as the petite mage was pulling him in a very sharp direction to the side, their approach no longer intended for the castle doors, intimidating mahogany expertly carved and inlaid with iron trappings and strongholds.

Instead, Ricken was leading them through the courtyard, a visual feast in and of itself, but Robin couldn’t take the time to admire it as he was dangerously curious about their destination.

“You said we were headed for the castle, but that doesn’t exactly specify. So let me ask again,  _where_ are we going?”

Regardless of Ricken’s previous confidence, something in Robin’s tone of voice stirred a bit of humility in the mage, seemingly only just realizing that he had swept the white-haired stranger up into an extremely ambiguous situation that would have left any other individual in a deadlock of anxious suspense, and rightfully so.

Robin was, admittedly, taking everything in stride quite well.

“Well it’s  _attached_ to the castle. We don’t need to necessarily go  _through_ the castle to access it, though.” Ricken endeavored to sound assured, though he couldn’t hide the slightest color to his cheeks and Robin was finding it easier and easier to read the boy.

With a skeptical quirk to his brow, Robin regarded Ricken a moment before responding in a decisively accusatory manner.

“So we’re avoiding the castle entrance on purpose, then. To likely avoid conflict. Because I’m assuming unwelcomed guests are, well, unwelcomed.” With every statement, Ricken was visibly wincing in front of him, and although Robin felt somewhat guilty for barbing the boy, he wasn’t exactly keen on getting himself into trouble with royalty.

He could feel himself nearly buckling under the apprehension of such a notion.

With a sniff, Robin was folding his arms and planting his feet firmly to move no further.

“Ricken, I need a straight answer. Why did you bring me here.”

Robin didn’t exactly expect the mage to whirl around as energetically as he did and was startled into a wide-eyed stupor as the boy was clutching to his forearms with nigh desperation.

“Listen, I know it’s really strange but I promise I’ll explain as soon we reach the barracks!” His eyes were nearly speckled with stars and Robin was almost,  _almost_ coerced by Ricken’s irrefutable boyish charm but he wished to ascertain himself a sensible human being with at least a  _little_ instinct for self-preservation. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak just yet and especially as Ricken sported the most heart-wrenching expression of heartbreak imaginable on a child which seemed comparatively outrageous, seeing as Ricken had witnessed multiple deaths not hours before.  Apparently, it was not as impressionable as Robin’s approval.

Like a switch, Ricken’s crest-fallen countenance morphed into something admirably determined and his grip on Robin’s forearm was tightening.

“Fine, I’ll explain, but we need to walk and talk.”

And with impressive physical force, the petite mage was pivoting and walking with newfound purpose; Robin roughly in tow.

\-- 

The Shepherds, as Ricken had begun while dragging Robin along the prettily maintained pathway, was the reason he was brought. That was a popular name lately, though with all his searching, even as a librarian’s assistant, Robin hadn’t found much on the group, other than it was a militia type organization that involved the royalty of the country to some extent.  
  
He’d been impressed to find that Ylisse had no true military might, it’s current exalt having disbanded their army after the death of their former king. With surrounding countries in repair over the last decade, it didn’t feel as if there were any real danger in not having one, but this militia had popped up as tensions rose and civil disputes happened by the handful on their soil. It didn’t seem like it was a terribly effective plan on the surface, but they were a functioning unit, still. Certainly they wouldn’t continue to fund something that was unsuccessful, unless this was some sort of pet project to keep the royalty busy.  
  
Still, what he had to do with the Shepherds was largely unclear. Ricken, despite his age, was one of them. His authority began to make more sense as the group took shape with each little piece Ricken presented in his vague description. Having such a young member…it was certainly feeling more like a pet project now. But this boy was in real danger going out and confronting brigands. Even if it was meant to keep nobility entertained, it was rather foolhardy to think a group of rich blooded youths with swords or books would be enough to truly scare off anyone without invoking real damage.  
  
Robin had to admit, however, he was intrigued. It was enough to sway his resistance for the time being as they closed in on a rather spacious looking building beyond the courtyard…a reformed stable, perhaps? The sound of grunting and metal clashing came from somewhere behind the shadow of the large building and he could only imagine it had to be training of sorts. At least they weren’t going in completely unqualified. But to assume such would be an insult to the family who ruled this seemingly prosperous country. There had to be a reason the people here were so loyal to their leaders regardless of a recent rise in crime. Robin decided then to reserve his more cynical judgment and simply take the worth of this band from Ricken’s glowing description of their triumphs.

They were entering the edifice with very little fanfare, none to be precise, and Robin was allowed the opportunity to survey the objects and various instruments and equipment that populated the interior. There was a handful or more so of people sparsely scattered about the room, speaking with one another; most of them adorning half if not full armor for what Robin could only assume was in preparation for an emergency deployment.

For a country that had dispersed of its military, Robin was quite impressed with the arsenal that had been gathered; neatly organized and visibly coveted due to the derisory quantity, any excess of ammunition virtually nonexistent.

Despite the relatively immaculate state of the barracks, the ivory-haired amnesiac could tell it was somewhat barren in places that originally accommodated vast quantities and justifiable surpluses of necessities. Their force was few despite the promise some of the individuals exuded,  and wasn’t exactly a means to protect against an oncoming assault in large numbers.

Grimacing, Robin was attempting to dismiss the rather morbid thinking, knowing well the inevitability of conflict but feeling he was too quick to dismiss the possibility of an extended period of peace. Ylisse, thus far, had been nothing but hospitable to him; an outsider with very few viable alibis to make his supposed citizenship legitimate.

Ricken, on the other hand, was scurrying about, his head on a swivel as he scanned all around in search of something, or perhaps someone; his brows guttered and lips pushed into a light pout. He was suddenly flouncing up to one of the inhabitants of the barracks, Robin hanging back to observe and feeling particularly awkward; much like a tagalong to a festival not previously invited to.

Whatever exchange Ricken had with them did not result in the small mage’s favor, though the man in armor he spoke with was regarding him in alliance all the same. Whatever doubts Robin may have retained that Ricken had any connection was stymied and snuffed out.

Ricken tried a second time with another individual yet it yielded the same results and Robin had finally had enough of shadowing the display of axes. He stepped forward, making sure to keep well out of way for anyone else milling about.

“Ricken, who are you looking for? Are you sure it’s alright that I’m here?” To punctuate his skepticism, Robin darted chest nut eyes up and around before pinning them back on the mage. Fed up, Ricken was huffing his response, still peering to and fro earnestly as he did so.

“I’m looking for Chrom.”

Robin’s expression faltered, his brows settling low as creases of deliberation made twin craters on his forehead.

He knew that name.

It was a strange and whimsical familiarity, something he was very unused to experiencing with the void of his memory. It wasn’t quite the same as his experience he had when Libra had praised Naga’s name, yet it had an essence of nostalgia to it, though he hadn’t a clue as to why.

He was brooding heavily, so much so that Ricken had become distracted from his earlier search and was now observing Robin was similar perplexity; cocking his head to the side.

“You okay?”

Robin didn’t break concentration, his gaze sharply focused on nothing in particular.

“Chrom…I know that name…” he replied, his voice a baritone of reflection, on the cusp of epiphany when Ricken was scoffing unceremoniously.

“Well I would  _hope_ so, seeing as he’s our prince and all.”

As if waking from a dream, Robin’s eyes were fluttering a bit, rapidly blinking away the pensive haze of his musings as his brows quirked up and his somewhat dumfounded gaze landed on Ricken.

“Pri…-… he’s our what?”

Before Ricken could clarify much of anything, the doors to the barracks were suddenly bursting open and sweeping inside with grandiose activity and a flurry of bustling bodies all about them like bees to a hive were two knights in particular; one marching at the forefront while the other was dutifully tailing behind; taller by a few inches or more and broader across the shoulders though such was arguably a result of the armor he was adorning.

The petite mage was perking right up, his head whipping around and visibly brightening.

“Prince Chrom!” He chirped and without warning, he scuttled around behind Robin, pressed his palms flat against the backs of his shoulders and urgently ushered him forward. No amount of digging his heels into the flooring could prevent his approach and Robin was becoming ashen, his pulse deafening and reverberating like thunder through him.

“ _Ricken, you never said – I wasn’t expecting to—I can’t—_ ” Robin’s voice was a wheezing, winding jumble, sputtering over his shoulder to no avail as Ricken, apparently, would not be dissuaded and all too abruptly, he was thrust before royalty; tongue-tied and red-faced.

He had no choice but to interact now, lest he make a larger fool of himself in front of the sole  _prince_  of this country. Upon raising his eyes, he was met by several colliding sensations; ones that made his belly roil in the most unpleasant of ways. Gods, he honestly felt as if he were going to be ill.

But he knew this face…

Perhaps he didn’t want to with the way it was drawn up in a stony grimace. That was half of the reason he felt his heart clawing it’s way out his throat. But despite the oddly glassy-eyed glare he appeared to be getting with his first appearance before the man, something about his features were catching. A painting…perhaps he’d seen a portrait recently that he couldn’t recall. But just as the name had rung a bell in the distant recesses of his mind, the face that came along with it did as well. Albeit dampened by it’s current, unpleasant state of expression.

“No – Ricken?! Move! Milord has been-!” The voice of the knight of great stature behind the scowling prince snapped like a whip in the hands of a nerved up stable boy. There was an air of anxiety that clutched at Robin even harder with the way it was spoken, as if harm might be done should they not obey immediately. But it was a flicker in the prince’s expression that stayed Robin’s feet, turning chestnut eyes upward as the unpleasant expression of sheer distaste seemed to be morphing to something entirely different. It was something almost pained. The glazed blue eyes that stared at him now appeared distant, as if they may roll back sometime soon, though his rigid stance suggested otherwise.

“Y-your highness, are you-” The honorifics were sputtered out as an afterthought as concern began to tug slightly at Robin, as if there were anything he could do that might serve the man. It was an automatic empathetic response, one that was cut very short.

Within seconds from the knight attempting to shoo them from their path, the bizarre and familiar man standing just before Robin doubled over, shoulders shuddering. Robin felt the heat on his hands before he heard the splash at his feet, never mind whatever splattered on his greaves and pantlegs from this distance. The hunched form before him was coughing and a feminine voice from further back was shrieking, but it was all particularly deafened as Robin realized in a delayed sense just exactly what was all over his hands.

 _Blood_. And lots of it.

There was an almost comical beat of silence that followed, the prince hunched over after he’d wretched and Robin locked in petrified stillness adorning a colorful assortment of blood and various stomach content. But such did not last and within seconds, the silence was obliterated and dissolved into utter mayhem.

A crowd had gathered upon the prince’s arrival, but it certainly did not compare to the horde that came as though by magnetic force to the scene that followed. Pandemonium ensued all at once, the barracks in an uproar as accusations of conspiracy and treachery were springing forth; poison, internal bleeding and the like only a few of the theories that were cried out as everyone seemed to believe they should aid all at once.

It was a whirring blur of people, the knight accompanying the prince, who now was just as ashen as Robin and dribbling blood from the chin, attempted to stave off the pulse of bodies, others rushing about to locate a cleric while the rest were darting off to locate palace hands and guards who could possibly help though it was little wonder that they certainly could not with the fortress of individuals who had swarmed their prince.

Robin, all the while, had not moved a muscle as everything fell into chaos within half a minute’s time. Wide eyed, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the stain of red that coated his hands and forearms, as well as the spattering that decorated his pant legs and shoes. The smell was putrid, the temperature enough to induce a bout of gagging as it churned one’s stomach. After what felt far longer than it truly was, Robin lifted his gaze, face white as a ghost, to stare before him at the bustle of bodies; looking very much like a nest of hornets that had been abruptly and rudely disturbed.

And before he could get a word in, his knees were buckling, his head becoming light and fizzled with white noise, and out he went; eyes rolling up as he promptly keeled backward and hit the floor with a resounding thud.

Robin had passed out cold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lendra: I'M SO SORRY EVERYONE!! It's been nearly two years and yet BC and I still receive notifications on this story! Thank you all SO much for your continued support of this story as well as your patience!! I'm hoping this is to everyone's liking and finally, FINALLY BC and I have ironed out a relatively linear plot to work on!
> 
> Please leave us your thoughts in the comments! We would love to hear what you think and again, I'm so sorry for the wait! I hope you all enjoyed!!
> 
> BC: On a side note, we moved twice during that time and also got engaged! (As Chrom and Robin to boot)  
> A picture of the Chrobin proposal is here (You'll have to copy and paste the URL): http://img10.deviantart.net/42f7/i/2016/354/b/b/the_wind_at_my_back_and_the_sword_at_my_side_by_bleachcakecosplay-dasa2r0.jpg


	4. Dive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After what felt far longer than it truly was, Robin lifted his gaze, face white as a ghost, to stare before him at the bustle of bodies; looking very much like a nest of hornets that had been abruptly and rudely disturbed._  
>     
>  _And before he could get a word in, his knees were buckling, his head becoming light and fizzled with white noise, and out he went; eyes rolling up as he promptly keeled backward and hit the floor with a resounding thud._
> 
> _Robin had passed out cold._

Eyes of cinnamon were scanning the shelving, examining the worn spines of hardcover after hardcover; gold leafing adorning some, fading off of others. Looking back down, brows guttered in study of the novel in hand before lifting the speculative gaze to the books along the sill.

And there it was, the space where the manuscript in hand belonged. Pushing onto tiptoes, Robin slid the book back into place.

The library had become a dwelling of sanctuary for him - a place where the hush of quiet activity and the crisp flipping of pages spoke comforts to him. It was the perfect locale for allowing the mind to wander and mingle elsewhere.

Which, according to the inescapable fates that plagued the ivory-haired booklover, was currently the least desirable circumstance. It had been his effort, for the span of a whole cycle of the sun and moon, to _not_ allow his mind to run away with his thoughts and yet, no matter his endeavors, and not for a lack of trying, Robin could not forget the occurrences of just two days prior.

Ironic, considering his history with memories. But as it stood, it was keen and fresh as newly plucked fruit.

-

_Muffled sounds of shuffling, various voices and an unfamiliar background hum was what Robin woke to.  A small groan passed his lips as his head attempted to lift itself from the fabric supporting him from below, though a wave of dull throbbing sent him back down again._

_A cot?_

_“Ah- You shouldn’t move just yet!” A soft yet urgent female voice was calling from his left. It quaked with uncertainty, though the tone sounded genuinely concerned. She was nervous, shy, even. Was she speaking to him? A healer, perhaps?_

_His head turned against the particularly deflated pillow to catch the eyes of a woman sitting up in the bed adjacent to his own. Her eyes were as soft as her voice and her heather gray hair hung long against her chest and back, curling softly at its ends. Squared off bangs prettily framed her face, though there was a slightly unkempt feel to it, suggesting she had woken not too long ago herself._

_“I’m sorry – Just…I don’t want you to hurt yourself further.” Her lower lip tucked in, fingers kneading into the edge of the knitted blanket and Robin couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed to be fretted over by a pretty stranger. It only took a moment of observation, seeing the pile of armor by her bedside to note that ‘healer’ was likely not her position._

_But then where was he…?_

_Realization crept in slowly as another face, this one far less friendly, came into focus over her shoulder. Brown eyes and drawn brows leveled him over a strong nose and tightly pressed lips. It was the knight in a great suit of armor he had seen come into the barracks along with…_

_The prince._

_He sat right up straight before flinching, then abruptly hissed and hunched over his knees to cup his head as his fingers came in contact with a rather large, egg-shaped lump on the back of his skull. Another injury? He’d had a knack for getting himself into trouble along with getting himself injured in the most bizarre encounters as of late. It only seemed to get even more bizarre as the weeks went on and he delved further into life in Ylisstol._

_“Oh – Oh no, are you okay? The healers haven’t quite finished with you yet. The Captain was sort of… everyone’s priority for a bit…” Her troubled voice rose while the knight in the back corner lifted himself as well, armor clacking softly with movement. It was an oddity to see someone with the dedication to remain fully suited while in an infirmary, but his attentions were split between his intimidating physique and her wording. The Captain...did she not also mean the Prince? Were they one in the same?_

_“Chrom…” Robin felt himself breathe, head still fuzzy about the edges as his lips formed around those familiar consonants and vowels. “Is he alright…?”_

_Surprise rippled through both inhabitants while the room outside their own continued to bustle with unknown activity. It was only through a sharp clearing of his throat did the silence break with the sound of the knight’s voice._

_“Your crowned Prince Chrom. I needn’t remind a guest to our barracks to use proper honorifics in-”_

_“Down, Frederick. I’m sure there’s no harm meant by it. He’s just recovering.” A squeak of the door hinges accompanied the smooth tone of whoever had entered. It came simultaneously with the bright blush of the woman on the bed as she moved to cover herself up a bit further. In a bout of nervous fidgeting, she began pulling at the ends of her hair that Robin was just noticing now seemed to be damp; a recent bathing, perhaps. But even without seeing who it was, the voice was all too familiar. He could somehow tell before even looking upon the blue eyes that rest on him, albeit the man was down dressed since the last time he saw him._

_“I see you’re awake now.”_

_-_

It had taken a moment to realize despite its repetition, but once he had, Robin fervently shook his head to forcibly pull himself from his recollection. Dwelling on it only revisited the humiliation twice over and he had experienced quite enough for the time being and all the days to come.

Extending his arm out, Robin was plucking a book from another shelf that did not belong and turned about face to pinpoint its proper location; doggedly marching in its direction with resolution to focus on the task at hand.

It was a fruitless struggle, as it turned out. The series it belonged to was housed next to an extensive anthology of the royal family. He groaned audibly, earning a sharp hiss for silence from someone somewhere, but Robin couldn’t find it within himself to care and he was pitching forward to knock his forehead against the wooden shelving; sagging against it wearily as it appeared he was destined to revisit the topical memory regardless of his fervent wish to evade it.

As though it were happening then and there, his reminiscing commenced acute and vivid as ever.

-

**_I see you’re awake now._ **

_The words struck like lightning splitting granite, and yet all he could do was gape, holding his breath as anticipation grasped him…though for what, it was unclear. Even more so than before, this calm vision of a man before him was even more catching. Without an expression contorted in sheer discomfort, it was easier to find the magnetic pull of familiarity intensifying._

_“C-Captain…are…are you well?” The timid voice of the pretty young woman rose once more and blue eyes directed away from Robin before the dazed librarian could seem to grasp what it was he’d been waiting for the man to say._

_Was he going mad? What was this eerie familiarity? Clearly it was not one that was mutually shared with the way he was regarded…not that he expected otherwise from_ **_royalty_ ** _._

_With an air of humility unexpected, the blue-haired young man regarded her with color to his cheeks and a slight bow of his head. “Yes, it seems the worst of the symptoms have passed.  Although…I’m embarrassed to ask your forgiveness for being caught up in that earlier. It was …more humiliating than I’d like to admit.”_

_Her coloring rivaled his own, hands lifting to wave in front of herself in an over exaggerated motion of dismissal._

_“N-not at all! I-it was…uncomfortable, no doubt, but probably far more so from your end!” The knight standing in the farther corner watched the exchange with the same stony indifference…or perhaps that was just his face. There did appear to be slight flickering of concern._

_“Yes, well…it was a rather odd hex to be inflicted with, but I sustained no injury…other than maybe that of my pride. But that wouldn’t be a first.” There was a huff of amusement to his words and where Robin found himself unwinding a bit to see the prince seemingly well in health, the knight observing only became more rigid and unpleasant in his visage._

_“It was still reckless to have involved yourself with a mage of unknown power, milord. I gladly would have taken care of-”_

_“Yes, Frederick, I’m quite aware you would have thrown yourself into the fray in a moment’s notice, but I had not the time or luxury of letting them go to run back to their comrades for aid.” The patience in his voice suggested this was a regular occurrence._

_Was this really the single male heir to the throne? His countenance did indeed speak volumes of leadership, though little of royalty, if Robin was to be fair in his analysis._

_As if his inner thoughts had been overheard, the prince’s eyes were back on him, as were the eyes of the others._

_“I hear I owe an apology to you as well. That…ah, must have been quite a welcome into the barracks. I can’t say I remember much of walking in.”_

_Robin became completely dumbfounded once again as the prince spoke directly to him. It only occurred to him then he had to be looking a mess. In fact…where were his usual articles of clothing? His words came out in a sputtering frenzy as he tried to gather his thoughts together, patting down the back of his head instinctively. The lump there had him a bit more scattered than usual._

_“N-not at all, your majesty – I’m glad to hear you’re doing well after – after…._ **_that-_ ** _”_

_“Well,” He started, looking only somewhat sheepish, or as much as a prince with the countenance of royalty could. “Dignity aside, my palette took the worst of it. I’m not sure the kind of blood that hex used, but gods, it was foul.” The expression Chrom adorned mirrored the last one Robin saw before he had fainted._

_“I would imagine regurgitating blood of_ **_any_ ** _sort would be foul.” Robin snorted._

_It dawned on him far too late that his attempt at witty humor could and very well may have been one of the worst responses he could have provided. Robin could see the stern knight now known as Frederick nearly pitch forward in his peripherals, making to respond dutifully to reprimand him as the prince’s honorable vassal. But before he could do anything, Chrom was chuckling, the sound reverberating deeply in the thick barrel of his chest._

_“Quite~” He responded, the corners of his lips pulled up in genuine amusement._

_Robin let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He was unsure where he got off thinking he could be amicably familiar with sovereigns. He was coincidentally reminded then with a dull throb that he had smacked his skull rather hard against wooden flooring; a viable excuse for at least part of his pitiful manners._

_He turned his eyes down as he responded, this time careful with his words. “I apologize, your majesty, for speaking rather thoughtlessly.”_

_“Well I’m only the Prince, so you needn’t refer to me as ‘majesty’.” Chrom endeavored to maintain the air of jest, it appeared, but Robin was nearly choking. It was bad enough that the blue-eyed commander was flippantly dismissing his noble status, but Robin had also blundered in proper honorifics. His head whipped upright, his face a spectacular garden of roses stretching all the way to the crest of his ears as he clutched the thin sheet over him tightly._

_“Y---Your highness!!” He yelped, voice nearly cracking as he corrected himself._

_Chrom looked terribly amused, much to Robin’s mortifying dismay. What was more, the pretty woman with hair the color of dried lilac was pressing her fingers to her mouth to stifle a giggle rather poorly._

_“You really don’t have to-”_

_Whatever it was Chrom was going to say was abruptly interrupted as an individual lightly armored and half obscured by the doorframe was speaking urgently._

_“Captain, I have news. There have been reports of a standoff happening on the outskirts of the city.” Her voice was rough with little room for argument. Like a stone, Chrom dropped the air of congeniality and his brows etched into a stern line, his eyes vivid and sharp._

_“Are they affiliated with the culprit from earlier?”_

_Likely, he was talking about the person who had hexed him or so Robin deduced. He couldn’t name the reason, but as soon as an essence of urgency had fashioned, Robin had taken to a similar alertness; like a fox training its ears for the infinitesimal patter of prey beneath the snow._

_He had no investment in the topic, no reason for acute focus, yet he couldn’t shake the rigidity to his spine as he listened._

_“It’s likely. We haven’t heard much, but I’d bet on it.” She responded. Chrom’s eyes narrowed, his forehead cratered with a scowl of speculation while his voice took on a somewhat different tone._

_“Plegian?”_

_There was a palpable shift to the atmosphere as he asked. The unnamed woman at the door lifted her chin slightly._

_“We don’t know.”_

_Chrom sniffed, though said nothing else on the matter and instead, turned his eyes to knight who had since stood._

_“Frederick.” One word statements needed little follow up. His aura spoke with clarity his nobility and natural leadership, an air of command encompassing him unparalleled to anyone else within the vicinity._

_“Milord, you’ve only just recovered. I don’t believe it to be necessary, nor wise to-”_

_“A lecture won’t be necessary, I’m well aware of your concerns. Will you be accompanying me, or will you remain here?”_

_It was probably an exchange that had happened more than once in the past, seeing as few reacted with shock to the nature of Chrom’s response and Frederick didn’t look terribly aghast. He was visibly displeased at being so readily unheeded, but more than that, he had an unwavering faith in his Prince and a duty to serve. His head was bowing with grace he had likely practiced for several years._

_“I will accompany you, of course.”_

_With a single nod, Chrom turned, a splendid flourish of his cape adding flair to his departure no matter how unintentional, and he was gone within a moment’s time. As Frederick made to follow, the knight occupying the bed beside Robin was also scrambling to action; floundering about her armor and not bothering to tame the somewhat matted tresses at the back of her head._

_“Milady, I won’t ask you to remain here, I would not venture to insult you as such. However, please take caution. Do not push yourself.”_

_She held the knight’s gaze as he spoke, and once he was through, she was offering a broad smile back at him akin to a ray of sunshine._

_“Thank you, Frederick. I’ll be sure to take care.”_

_He bowed lightly in acknowledgement before swiftly exiting to follow after his Prince. With impressive haste, she, too, was soon ready and wasted little time in making for the door. Without understanding his underlying drive to do so, Robin was reaching out toward her, his fingers splayed and extended._

_“Wait--”_

_He could not put a voice to his thoughts; it was not his place, first and foremost, to inquire after the private affairs of the Shepherds. She turned to him, looking rather apologetic though she’d little reason to._

_“I’m sorry we’re all running out on you. We’ll be back soon enough, so hang in there, alright?” Her voice was chipper, like a bell or a bird. She was about to take leave, though she startled and quickly faced him once more._

_“Oh right! I’m Sumia! It’s nice to…well, I guess we didn’t…exactly meet each other yet.” As she abashedly stumbled over her words, another soldier was pausing in the doorway._

_“Sumia, if you’re coming, you’d best hurry. Everyone is nearly fully deployed.” And with that, they, too, were marching down the hall and out of sight. It did not take much else for the bumbling girl to give her quick adieu to Robin before nearly stumbling out of the infirmary and leaving him entirely alone._

_It appeared that would be the best time for him to gather his thoughts; left in this nearly empty room while the troops outside prepared to deal with this skirmish just outside their capital. Perhaps a healer or servant would come to fetch him at some point. That is what one would expect, and yet it was another who came bursting in. His manner of scurrying was tell-tale enough that he was also doing something he was likely not supposed to._  
  
_“Robin— You’re okay, right? Come with me – We can still catch up to Chrom if you’re quick.” With oversized hat sliding off his head and a wind tome clutched in his hands, Ricken was back to his mantra of ushering Robin along to whatever end he meant to accomplish._

“Robin.”

 

He, once again, nearly leapt from his skin as a voice in present time called for him, sending his heart sputtering and head snapping up to attention. It was a very familiar feeling and one the head librarian standing by the mouth of the range had visibly grown tired of in such a short time. That, coupled with an impatient sigh said it all.  
  
“Yes, Irving?” The name was uttered as carefully and respectfully as possible, a sort of half attempt at buttering up his employer before he received yet another lecture for spacing out while he tended to his daily duties of dusting and sorting endless rows of texts. The docility seemed to have little effect, though that too was anticipated.

 

“Pause what you’re doing a moment. You’re needed at the front.”

 

Strange. Normally he was told expressly what he would be doing, or more accurately, scolded for not having the initiative to do things that were ‘so obviously in need of completion’. Either way, it would likely be a needed break from his thoughts. Abashed as he was to admit, he had been standing in the same spot for several minutes now as his mind moved over the mind-boggling events of only a day and a half prior. It barely even touched his curiosity to wonder what sort of task he’d be requested once he got to magnificent lobby. He was still preoccupied with his earlier recollection. What the small mage had asked him to do.  
  
What he’d gone and  _done_.

 

Despite the relief he was sure he would have felt at returning to the sanctuary of the library and the protection it would permit him, he couldn’t help the fire that still smoldered in his guts. It was a destiny way beyond him and sensibly speaking, the barracks were no place for an amnesiac. He was safe here.  
  
“Were you keeping him in the attic? He looks as dusty as your books here, Irving.”

 

Robin’s blood ran cold, his eyes widening and he almost didn’t dare to raise his head at the unmistakable voice he heard, despite having only heard scarce sentences from its owner prior. What in the nine heavens was he doing here?!

 

“Well, I’m sure sleeping in the castle is a luxury few can afford…although, I hear you have been doing little of that, as of late.”

 

Chrom’s chuckle finally brought the wide-eyed stare of Robin’s upward, seeing the blue and silver clad prince looking a bit more ornate than he had previously. The difference of being out of recovery, he supposed. It still wasn’t the adornments he expected of royalty, though it certainly denoted authority.

 

“Only when I’m forced to. Soldiers belong in the barracks, commanding officer or not.”

 

It was taking all of Robin’s effort to keep up with the conversation. Not that it was particularly difficult to process, per se, he simply couldn’t fathom why the crowned prince of Ylisse was gracing his place of employment and conversing rather amicably with his proprietor; never mind the nuanced manner of annoyance Irving was displaying in doing so.

 

“It’s been some time since I’ve seen you voluntarily visit.” Irving didn’t exactly sound pleased, nor was he entirely dissatisfied. Chrom was his prince and as rigid as Irving was, the navy-haired royal had a curious charm about him despite the unyielding presence of the knight accompanying him; Frederick, Robin recalled, and also pointedly avoided eye contact with.

 

“I’m not sure if it was ever voluntary, if I am to be honest. But rest assured, I’m not here to disorganize your immaculate arrangements.” The prince was in visibly good spirits. Irving did not mirror the sentiments.

 

“You don’t need to. You’re already causing trouble by interrupting our work.” Frederick looked about ready to weigh in to defend Chrom’s honor, but Chrom was chuckling, obviously unfazed by the banter if not fond of it.

 

“As lovely as it is to catch up, I have business with your librarian here.” Calling a close to their conversation, Chrom turned his eyes to Robin who, by all means, was just as disbelieving as Irving likely was and even lamely lifted a finger to gesture to himself, lest he truly make a fool of himself and assume Chrom was speaking of him when he was not. Not that he had much dignity left to speak of, nor was it entirely daft to come to such a conclusion considering the circumstances. Robin wouldn’t put it past Irving to fool him for some petty source of amusement, however. He _had_ returned to the library with no books to speak of, far later than he should have and was _still_ graciously allowed to keep his position.

 

Chrom’s brows lifted, a curl of amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth before he nodded to affirm Robin’s inquiry.

 

“Whatever business you have, be quick. Robin has a lot of work to catch up on.” Irving did not wait for Chrom’s reply, turned, and left; leaving Robin to fend for himself. The ivory-haired bookworm was suddenly all too aware of the number of eyes that were watching; peaking around corners, peering over shelving, gazing from the outside.

 

“Your highness…” Robin had no other idea of how to begin, clutching the book he had forgotten he’d been holding close to his chest. He was still not entirely convinced Chrom had journeyed out of his way to speak with him. He was of so little importance, even a summons would have been too formal a manner of communication. To warrant him in the _flesh…_

 

Robin managed to withstand gulping audibly.

 

The prince’s amusement had not faded. Rather his hand raised as if to hold back the radiating stress of the silver haired young man with his palm.  
  
“Peace, Robin…was it?” It seemed he didn’t truly need reminding, but inquired more out of friendly reintroduction. “I didn’t come to deliver any sort of military order, if that’s what you’re anticipating.”  
  
Despite the tension of the situation, enhanced still by the flinty stare of his hulking right hand man, Robin did find slight ease in the declaration. Capital punishment may or may not have crossed his mind a few times within the span of entering Ylisstol. Thank the Gods it had not been delivered yet.  
  
His wariness did not ease; still knowing it couldn’t be entirely out of goodwill for the sole son of a deceased potentate and commander of the country’s military to be dropping in for a chat. Not to insult the potential charity of this man, but he simply did not have the time.  
  
“It…sort of was, if I’m to be honest.” Robin answered truthfully, once more taking a risk in doing so, but something seemed to provoke his honest opinion in the man’s presence. He’d find out if that was a good instinct to have or not.

 

The slight smile did not leave Chrom’s lips. Robin could feel his nerves buzzing like an angry hive as his toes curled in his boots and his temples were becoming tacky with perspiration. But the conversation did not continue this way. Rather, Chrom took the opportunity to switch gears, his feet bringing him a few steps forward while his eyes moved up to frescoes painstakingly painted across the vaulted ceiling. The knowingness recalled in his gaze hinted at the nostalgia of being raised in the city with such a grand library, even if he’d hinted to having an aversion to the locale. He certainly didn’t seem bookish, but Robin had already been wrong in a few of his assumptions.  
  
“You must be a true lover of books to work under Irving intentionally.” Again, the commentary had the quality of a friendly jape. But it was Robin’s keen deduction that noted the underlying question with such a whimsical statement. What was he himself truly doing here?  
  
“I do…and if I’m to be honest yet again, sire, it has been a very fitting job for me thus far.”  
  
Blue eyes flickered to him; smile vanished, though the spark in the gaze that pinned to him was not acrimonious.

 

“Fitting.” The short, simple repeat still echoed against the lobby walls, swallowed into the rows upon rows of books that Robin had been familiarizing himself with for days on end. His makeshift home, of sorts. “And then is it also satisfying?”

 

Robin’s expression had changed. The prince had an agenda and Robin wasn’t so senseless as to remain oblivious to it. Admittedly, he _had_ deduced the possibility for such an honorable visitation, but the prospect seemed so highly unlikely, so presumptuous, Robin couldn’t allow himself the privilege of entertaining the thought.

 

Yet it was becoming all the more vivid with all the more clarity that Robin had been quite accurate; Chrom intended to enlist him into the Shepherds.

 

Tipping his chin down slightly, his gaze was becoming guarded and speculative. His experience had been brief, but the gravity of Chrom’s charisma was not easy to ignore. Above all else, Robin did not want to be goaded to the frontlines because a charming prince smiled at him and promised him glory. The dedication of Chrom’s soldiers told their own stories, but Robin had been nose-deep in literature of all sorts for long enough to learn all the tricks and trades. Chrom’s heart spoke of sincerity but Robin believed it best to remain apprehensive.

 

It was hard to repudiate, however, the instinctive desire to approve even _before_ knowing the details and conditions.

 

“I beg pardon for my insolence, my prince, but why exactly are you here.”

 

Robin had no desire to skirt around the truth. He had wasted enough time chasing the coattails of a dream that was very likely not his own, no matter how valiantly Ricken had pleaded his assistance with their beloved militia.

 

Brows lifted slightly, a navy arch over blue eyes of a lighter hue. Truly, he did not seem at all offended by directness, rather almost a bit satisfied that he did not have to dance around the topic.

 

“I didn’t mean to hedge you with indirect commentary. I can tell you’re intelligent. Probably more so than myself.” With a sniff, weight was shifting from a squared off stance to lean more casually on one leg. It broke the illusion of any inquiries leading to a direct command. “That’s why I’m also going to bet you know why I’m here.”

He certainly did. But rather than continue to make potentially risky banter, he awaited the request.

“You’re not a simple librarian. I saw it with my own eyes and I feel I only saw the edge of your true talent. So I have to wonder what you’re doing dusting and sorting books when you have that kind of aptitude with a blade and tome.”

Here came the dangerous part. Robin had no explanation for his seemingly rounded battle skills. There were no memories surrounding it other than a gut feeling that drove his hands and redirected his mind to make split decisions in battle. He also didn’t know how long that would last.

 

“Living in a library is far safer than living on a battlefield. I can’t say the idea of rushing after brigands with a sword is…all that appealing in consideration to longevity.” The answer was not satisfying, but it was the best one he had without coming out and telling him straight on that he hadn’t a clue how he came to these diverse set of skills.

 

A strong set of gloved hands landed on the either side of prince’s hips as his stance changed minutely once more.

“No. As someone whose talents lie mostly in rushing after others with a sword, I can see that would likely be a waste. But Ricken had quite a bit to say of your other talents. Surely these weren’t all learned while your nose was between the pages of a book.”

Likely, no. But he was stuck without a true answer now, frowning softly as he did not want to lie, though was still unconvinced of the offer. Chrom sensed the edges of his trepidation and took to moment to gesture delicately to Robin’s right hand.

 

“Did you learn them in your homeland? Or…perhaps you have foreign family.”

 

Scarcely a moment had passed before Robin understood what it was Chrom was referring to and all at once, it felt as though he had been dipped into a basin of ice. The last he knew of it, the mark that had branded the back of his hand had vanished, leaving him nearly to believe it had been an illusion from the beginning.

 

He had not glanced the marking since, conveniently covered by the leather vambrace and circled like a lock around the knuckle of his middle fingers. It took not a second longer to conclude that his time in the infirmary had revealed all such secrets; ones he knew nothing about and had no means to defend against should it be a hidden poison. They had washed him of bile and blood and undeniably, the leather guards had been removed to do so.  

 

How he had not taken notice during the brief recovery without them, he was uncertain. He’d simply slipped them back on without thought and moved on none the wiser.

 

Forgetting where he stood and who was before him, lost in the whirring thoughts of not two days prior, Robin lifted his right hand for scrutiny; meticulous and tense. He peeled back the soft pelt just enough to affirm and there, inked in a rich plum purple with small swells of scarlet, was the design he’d witnessed his first night in Ylisstol.

 “Robin?”

 His mind was moving faster than coherent thought could form.

 “I offer my deepest apologies, but I can’t provide you with an answer currently. If you would excuse me.” Robin was bowing his head deeply, a wholly reverent gesture and one dually intended to instill composure while his head was spiraling. He did not move, even as Chrom shifted to regard him in excruciating silence.  

 “…Very well.”

 It was all the permission Robin needed, his head of white hair lifting from its bend, and with haste that intimidated himself, he pivoted and marched in a direction furthest from the prince and his vassal, and deeper in the torrent of his head.

 

It registered in a muted sense the complaints of the great knight standing just behind his liege. His voice carried agitation, but the lord once again doused the prickling easily and the two were, much to Robin’s reprieve, turning to make their leave as the trailing gazes of patrons followed the sight.   
  
This marking was not of this country. That was all he could assume of it. It was true, he had not seen anything of its nature in Ylisse’s capitol. Whether that was a bad thing or not, he wasn’t sure it was the  _prince_ he wanted knowing first. Perhaps he wasn’t being arrested or strung up now, but it could change in a moments time.  
  
“Lord, boy. You are ashen as death himself. What did Chrom want from you?” Robin drew in a sharp breath as he hadn’t realized he was within paces of Irving who had, likely, been on his way to collect him for his duties. Nevermind the lack of formality in using his name, Irving made it sound as if the presence of royalty was of little more importance than listening to the prattle of heralds. But he couldn’t shake off his shock in time for a clever response before came the distasteful click of his employer’s tongue. “Nevermind. I know exactly what he came for. The only efforts he can think of are recruiting for that rag tag militia group of his. His sister is the only one with a real vision for what this country truly needs. Gods bless that woman.”   
  
His voice trailed, but Robin was left gaping still, his thoughts still in so many scattered pieces while anxiety held his ribcage tight like the taught string of a bow.   
  
“Wh…what of foreigners? Does the royal family have any…aversion to them?” Surprisingly, that stopped Irving, his sharp eyes turning back with a crinkle to his sparse eyebrows. Perhaps the commentary had been a bit too off-topic to slip by conversationally. Was he digging himself a deeper hole?  
  
A rather flat scoff came instead of suspicion.  
  
“Please. Prince Chrom would take a toddler into his midst if they could grasp a weapon. He has no sense of race or religion, let alone border.” Tenuous fingers rapped his checklist impatiently, though he continued, humoring the shaken, white-haired boy. “I suppose Plegians have them a bit agitated as of late, but unless they were either stained red with Ylissian blood or if they were the Mad King himself, I doubt even then he’d think to turn them away. The Exalt has been preaching unity for years.” 

 

Robin had read a little of the border relations Ylisse had with Plegia; snippets and excerpts that were a variety of opinions sometimes well masked; commendable and professionally written script, though bias did not escape in full. They were not in the best condition, tensions somewhat high and, from news Robin had come across and gathered, the man known as the ‘Mad King’ of Plegia had been instigating war cautiously enough to place blame upon Ylisse despite the obvious source of the aggregate.

 

It would be no surprise why the royal family would turn their nose up in distaste at foreigners from a land such as that. Though there was no guarantee Robin had hailed from such a place, instinct and intuition provoked reason; Chrom was respectably cautious and Frederick coldly suspicious.

 

“…Do you know if prince Chrom upholds the ideals of the Exalt? Even as a man of the militia…?” It would be of little surprise if he was at odds with a pacifist, being a man who lived by the blade.

 

But Robin was a bit stunned to see Irving toss him an incredulous look from across the way; amidst placing a pile of books in his arms onto a table to sort.

 

“Chrom uphold Emmeryn’s ideals? He idealizes his sister probably more than followers of Naga idealize their god. I suppose he’s not so erratic as some, however she’s brought just as much if not more peace to the royal family as she has to this country. They may be dissimilar in their approach, but Chrom couldn’t withstand disapproval from her. She’s nearly like a mother to the prince and princess.” Irving closed his statement with a rather gruff scoff, as though the mere notion of Chrom butting heads at such a level with his sibling was preposterous.

 

Thought swarmed Robin like a haze, churning ideas, possibilities, risks, advantages all about in a tumult of whimsy and wonder. Was this truly something he was called to do? To serve the royal family in their pursuit of peace with his talents cultivated of mystery and history unknown? And Chrom’s words, his challenging statement of purpose; _fitting, but is it also satisfying?_

 

Robin’s pulse thrummed in his ears, something charged and vivacious like the fluttering wings of a bird reverberated through him and suddenly he could not shake such a bizarre ignite of excitement. Pulling the plush of his lower lip through his teeth, Robin lifted his right hand a second time that day and unclasped the tie that looped his middle finger to fully expose the back of his palm.

The scrawl looked to be a sigil of some kind; it had not disappeared as it had the first time he’d tried studying it in the swirling steam of the baths. Swiping his thumb across it as he had before, it did not smear nor wipe away; embedded into his flesh like ink upon parchment.  

The breath he released was measured and quaked just slightly, his gaze distant and seeing things far beyond the library before him. With a spark of spontaneity, something flaring to life within him, Robin was looping the vambrace back over his forearm and pivoted so abruptly, he nearly slipped and fell forward. But he did not, and thus began to run.

-

The air of silence about them was not one of question, taught in nature and what remained unspoken for the time being was nothing enigmatic. Strength of resolve was a trait in which Frederick prided himself on, a rare emotion as a humble man dedicated to serve, yet even so, his capacity to keep his thoughts to himself was, in a way, equally dishonorable as speaking flagrantly; there was warnings he believed important to heed as a Great Knight to the royal family.

“Milord, if I may. I believe, inevitably, it is for the best we don’t engage further.”

They were walking, their gait unhurried through the bustling streets of Ylisstol’s residential district that bordered the lively activity of the market square. There was no vanguard accompanying the prince, Frederick his sole accompaniment yet eyes still lingered as they made their way.

Instead of any word to cease, as he had been doing in a familial manner, there came only a hum from the prince as the idea appeared to be rolling around inside his head.   
  
“Well, he certainly looked like he’d rather swallow hot iron than continue talking to us by the end.” Perhaps he would have been amused had the gesture not also come across as a bit, to be plain, rude. He could certainly understand an aversion to battle, but outright cutting them off to run back into his books; perhaps he was less suited for the work than Chrom had anticipated.   
  
Frederick’s concerns however, as usual, did not align with those of his master.  
  
“Yes. It was rather telling how he dashed off after you simply mentioned that marking on his hand. Much as a guilty party does when confronted with the truth.” The sniff that followed punctuated his commentary, raising a brow from the prince while a few of the residents bowed along the sides of the road as they realized who was passing. “He was so eager to lend a hand hardly two days ago.”

 

Again, a short laugh was coaxed from Chrom’s throat; a sort of disbelieving scoff as he shifted the weight of his arm to rest casually along the hilt of his sword fastened by his side.  
  
“Guilty? Frederick, it’s a bit soon to say he’s done anything yet. I can’t imagine anyone living here who hailed from Plegia can feel terribly comfortable with what’s happening at our borders.” He barely paused to give a small nod in reciprocation of greeting as they passed by the shop of a leather smith, one he’d grown up donning the wares of. “He probably thought we were on some sort of witch hunt for Plegians.”  
  
As always, Frederick’s demeanor did not flinch.  
  
“As I’ve said before, I take no joy in being skeptical of our countrymen or others, but to allow someone who could potentially be tied into the recent upsurge of Plegian-led attacks on our land into the barracks-“  
  
Finally, a gloved hand raised to stop the commentary, Chrom knowing well where it was coming from and needing no further reminder, despite the monitored look he was still receiving.  
  
“Yes, Gods forbid we have a talented youth come to our door and defend our men in battle, on top of already having saved our youngest member previously.” He did not leave it at cheeky quip, knowing his knight deserved more respect than that. He truly was not a cynic solely by choice, harsh as his judgments sounded to the ears of others. “I understand your position, but understand mine as the Commander of the Shepherds. We need people willing to fight for our cause more than ever. Plegian born or not, if he has alliance with Ylisse, I’d be happy to have him. We must leave the door open for anyone willing to fight for peace…whatever their own reasons may be.”  
  
Shoulder armor clinked. Frederick was very upright. The prince could feel eyes over his shoulder and that familiar feeling that bubbled between them when Frederick would challenge his ideas, sometimes beyond what his rank would generally allow.   
  
“Even if their reason may be to get close to royalty so they may plunge a dagger into them?”   
  
His amused grin couldn’t be helped then, his shoulders relaxing to a degree as he could feel them speaking on equal terms.   
  
“If I should ever be the one standing in the way of peace, I invite them to point their blade to me. Not that I get the feeling that little librarian could point much of anything at me after seeing him shaking in his boots the way he was.”

 

For whatever reason, Frederick seemed momentarily abated and sniffed; his pointed gaze dulling its keen edge as it passed speculatively over the placid scenery of their nation’s capital and her people.

 

“Indeed, he did not appear to be the man he was when he secured our victory.”

 

It had happened nearly two days prior. What had simply been an incidental skirmish had evolved into a rather deeply rooted network of insurgents; the errant mage who had hexed Chrom with a spell of retching blood having triggered a rise of rebellion from an assembly of those who opposed the will of the royal family. Whether it had been their intention to incite a movement by purposefully creating crime to display their country’s inefficiency to handle it, or be it simply coincidental, it had garnered a crowd and planted the seed.

 

The uproar to question the security and effectiveness of Chrom’s motley militia had created a great disturbance and many of which who harbored even the slightest doubts had been provoked to a panic. It appeared erratic and sloppily thrown together, yet undeniable thought and preparation had taken place to effectively lure Chrom from the palace to grace the streets of the common citizen. They had done well to stir an unease in the everyday individual and claimed they would silence their outcry if Chrom simply stepped forward to answer them as their prince.

 

It was a trap, and a crafty one, setup to stain Chrom’s honor regardless of his action. Should Chrom remain on the sidelines and send another upon his order, or simply disregard the challenge, he would be labeled a negligent and craven leader, at best. Should he step forward to take up the challenge, to prevail meant to brandish him a persecutor to his people, yet to fail asserted his ineffectuality as leader. Either way, he was a prince with so little responsibility that he was awarded the luxury of time to duel every manner of opposition; an oppressor unfit to rule.

 

Indeed, it was a clever trick. But Robin was cleverer still.

 

To him, it was clear what their goal was, exactly. Bringing Chrom to the center and drawing attention to all his shortcomings, they would be able to extract themselves from the limelight of their rebellion and place all credibility to their crime and wrongdoing upon the prince’s inability to maintain order. Such would bleed up and into the royal family and, ultimately, the exalt and her creed.

 

They meant to topple the fragile tower of rule by placing a crack in the pillars at the base.

 

Robin truly liked to believe it had, yet again, been Ricken’s exuberant influence, but that would have been a lie. It was not the little mage boy with mahogany hair that provoked him to step forward, out of the mass of people that ringed the act, before Chrom was able to do so himself, and face the herald of such a catastrophic cause.

“’Our’ victory may be a bit of a stretch, Frederick. He completely extricated all manner of influence they had simply by _talking_. I suppose the fight it dissolved into was ultimately won by our forces, but it was because of his words that our triumph was seen as such by our people.” Chrom had come to a stop, Frederick dutifully pausing beside him while the prince kept his gaze forward. After a beat, blue eyes turned to regard the brown-haired cavalier.

 

“It could have easily been a silencing of their voices, instead of a detainment of their misconduct.”

 

Frederick could not argue, though his countenance indicated he wished to. He could see his desire to leave the white-haired stranger to the devices of the library and nothing else was not one shared by his lord. His shoulders straightened, body becoming rigid as he regarded his prince and the unspoken defiance he displayed; one that had followed him since childhood.

 

“Milord, if nothing else would dissuade you, then let his performance of moments ago encourage a second’s hesitation. Exhilaration and adrenaline can inspire nigh miracles from the unremarkable. Potential is an incredible feature, but it is not one to stake the life of your men and the reputation of your family upon.” Although any form of punishment would not follow, Frederick bowed his head regardless; a gesture of obeisance to his prince and acknowledgement to his right to speak so freely. After a moment, he lifted it, stern gaze steadfast upon his lord.

 

“Miracles should not be point of reference, sire. He is an ordinary boy who should be left to his books.”

 

“ _Your highness!!”_

 

They were allowed little more than a fleeting moment before all fell away and their attention was abruptly drawn to a head of fluffy white hair skirting the throngs of people and dashing its way toward them.

 

Where Frederick could be seen notably bracing himself, Chrom only offered a small smile over his shoulder, looking pleased by the situation.  
  
“Even the ordinary can overcome their shortcomings. Greatness is earned, not God-given.”  
  
And then Robin was upon them, panting, though he was undoubtedly trying to swallow his breaths to force composure before noble company. Both men said nothing, waiting for him to begin whatever he wished to address the prince with, even if the environment heavily suggested what he could be there for.  
  
“Your Highness…” Robin wheezed again, giving him the moments he needed to gather his thoughts despite anxiety thundering through his veins. This could be the bridge that connected this odd feeling of resonance with the man named Chrom, or it could be the extra strain that landed him in prison. But considering the long leash he’d been given despite brazenly waltzing through the castle courtyard or even  _killing thugs_  in the streets of the capital, it had given him the confidence to finally come clean.   
  
“I want to talk to you about your offer…”

 

A shift of his stance and Chrom finally engaged with a quirk of his lips.  
  
“I assumed as much with the way you tore through that crowd.” Robin’s face colored. Yes, it was rather obvious what he meant to speak about, but there was certainly an element that would be pertinent to his acceptance or refusal.   
  
“Yeah…I’m sorry, I know you probably have some pretty strange opinions of me by now with my behavior…”  
  
Frederick coughed. Robin filled the polite silence left by the prince to continue.  
  
“If I’m to have any future association with your militia, there is something I can’t keep from you all. I understand it’s going to sound completely mad, but I swear on whatever Gods look after me, it is the truth.”  
  
Intrigue was etched into the way the prince’s brows arched, anticipating this great reveal.   
  
“A little over a month ago, I woke up in a field on the far outskirts of this city…I had little money, a few papers…but if it weren’t for this parchment in my pocket-” His fingers pulled out the form to brandish between his fingers, assuming both had already seen it during his recovery in the barracks, “I wouldn’t even know my own name. I have no memories of whatever life I had before that and I-”  
  
A scoff of incredulity cut him off and the severe skepticism that wrinkled the corners of Frederick’s mouth and eyes said it all.   
  
“Pegasus dung. You truly believe a tale like that will-“   
  
Interception came from Chrom once again in the form of a raised hand, this time a bit firmer in the gesture as his eyes had not left Robin’s, face free of much other than a lightly concerned and perplexed crease between his brows.  
  
“Truly? You woke with no memory at all? And you found your way to this capital in search of family, I assume.”  
  
Robin nodded dumbly, heart in his throat, his breath feeling as if it were being drawn through a narrow reed.  
  
“…Then why jump to Ricken’s defense when you encountered him days ago?”

 

Robin straightened, having known such a question would come forth one way or another. He held Chrom’s gaze, his back aligning with as much dignity as he was able while his lungs quivered with a large intake of breath. Suspense lingered for only a second longer before Robin let himself exhale; his eyes turning down, brows furrowing as a contemplative unease grooved the features of his face.

 

“I can’t explain it…” His words only provoked further distaste in Frederick, though the knight remained silent out of respect for his prince. The ivory-haired bookworm turned over the words in his head, his fingers fisting then loosening in succession before he began to speak once more.

 

“I’ve had instances similar to it; moments where I’m the only one who can help… or maybe that’s simply how it feels, but…” He wet his lower lip, drawing the pink flesh between his teeth again to worry it in whirring, wild thought. He shook his head after a moment, willing away the pestering judgements that inundated his resolve. Lifting his chin, russet eyes haloed in topaz and amber locked with deep and steady blues. It felt then as though a bridge between earth and ocean had formed.

 

“I can’t put a name to this kind of calling, but it’s been with me since I had awoken. Perhaps I would live a long and peaceful life tucked in the corridors of the library, but…” He cast his eyes, ablaze with something eager, down to his hands once more; studying his palms as though they held a power he was only just beginning to understand. They curled into fists and when he raised his head once more, his mouth had pulled at the corners into a tentative, abashed smile. “A life like that would certainly not be so fulfilling.”

 

The tenuous humor of Robin’s breathy laugh that followed was falling away and the air of seriousness returned. Chrom had not spoken and Robin believed it was because the prince was well aware there was more to be said. He was right.

 

“I cannot say for certain what kind of asset I would be, nor can I claim to be an individual well trained and studied in any form of combat, but you have been candid with me in our fleeting conversations; I felt it a moral injustice not to return the sentiments.” With grace, Robin lowered his head, a gentle bow as a head of ivory hair imbued with silver tipped forward. After an appropriate passage of time, Robin righted himself, his expression far different than the ones he’d donned before. His brows set low, chin tipped down, and his lips were pressed into a firm and resolute line. All hesitance he felt was not indicated by his poise and only the flicker of his pulse betrayed his countenance of composure.

 

“If your proposal from earlier still stands…it would be an honor.”

 

Chrom drew in a breath through his nose, waiting only a brief pause before he gave a solemn nod.   
  
“We already owe you a debt for not only saving the lives of fellow Ylissians, but one of our own.” His voice was even, as was his gaze as each word was delivered with the polish of someone raised with high education. “I can’t promise we will be able to aid directly in restoring your memory, but you will have the promise of a soldier’s board and pay on top of whatever resources we may be able to provide in finding any family or leads to your old life in exchange for your service to this country.”   
  
Despite the obvious objection written all over the Great Knight previously, Frederick was silent now. He stood at attention; gaze forward, features betraying nothing. The prince’s decision had been made after hearing counsel and there was nothing more to say that wouldn’t feel like direct insubordination.   
  
“Where we pride ourselves on loyalty, the role of a Shepherd is largely voluntary. Should you find it not a good fit, you’re welcome to leave us at any time. Likewise, should you, for some reason, not feel well enough equipped for the role, we may deliver you back to the library.” The conditions seemed reasonable, almost surprisingly so for a military. But this group was informal, at best.  
  
Where anxiety had clutched at him, Robin now felt the stirrings of excitement in his chest. Perhaps a naïve swell of honor at being able to partake in a seemingly greater purpose.

 

This was a trustworthy man.  
  
Fingers releasing the well-worn hilt of his sword, Chrom’s right hand outstretched to the silver haired young man before him, shoulders square and the edges of his white cape tossing lightly with a gentle wind.

 

Robin raised his hand instinctively, feeling the corners of his own mouth beginning to tug upward for some reason. Chrom certainly had an infectious charm. But just short of taking it, he suddenly found himself remembering their positions. A prince likely did not give out handshakes. They usually received kisses on the backs of their hands or like gestures of honor.  
  
Was…that the appropriate response?  
  
The distress that must have crept into his expression did not go unnoticed. A grin unlike one he’d seen from this man before was spread across his lips and Robin could only be colored more confused.   
  
“Surely…you remember what a handshake is, yes?”

 

Robin’s head perked up, blinking a bit as he had not anticipated the prince to make such a remark. Cheekiness wasn’t something he had expected of a royal with such an alluring countenance. Oddly, it was an uplifting feeling, pulling a breathless chuckle from him as he flicked his gaze to Chrom’s glove palm then back to his face. The corners of his lips quirked up once more, his arm lifting to slip his hand into the one outstretched.

 

They fit together well, locking in a firm grip before Robin was cocking his head to the side and remarking before he could advise himself otherwise.

 

“Well then, I suppose I _do_ remember what a handshake is, don’t I.”

 

Robin’s expression nearly mirrored Chrom’s, an air of ease and familiarity encasing them akin to long acquainted comrades. Perhaps it would have lasted longer than it had, but after the instance had passed, Robin was going rigid, his eyes widening as the realization that he had been struck with a perturbed thought was quite apparent from an onlooker perspective.

 

“Irving…” It was just a murmur, but the moment Robin breathed it, his face scrunched up, eyes clamping shut as though bracing himself of some painful retaliation. Robin let his head loll forward in defeat before taking a few steps back and casting Chrom an apologetic expression when the prince donned one of inquiry himself.

 

“I’m sorry, I uh…I ran out of the library without warning and I’m already in poor regards with Irving.”

 

As expected of him, considering the interactions Robin had witnessed, Chrom was giving a light and dismissive snort, not appearing unsettled by the mention of the man’s name at all.

 

“Honestly speaking, I doubt Irving has a _high_ regard for much of anyone. You needn’t worry so much.”

 

Having the prince speak so amicably with him still left Robin a bit dazed. He couldn’t separate himself from the sensation of elation it provoked, however, and chuckled once more as he angled himself in preparation to retreat back to the library.

 

“With all due respect, your highness, I believe a prince would have more luxury in the matter, when it came to speaking one’s mind in concerns to employment.” They exchanged playful expressions, something exhilarating reverberating within him. He cleared his throat, finally taking a few steps back to indicate his intention to leave and not allow himself to become further caught up in the radiance of Chrom’s charisma.

 

“I have a duty to repay my debt to Irving at the very least, before I do anything else. Though I’m not sure how much labor would cover the books I owe him, to be quite honest. It’s been a blur the past few days.” Realizing he was becoming preoccupied with conversation once again, Robin shook his head and added a hop to his step, beginning to jog in place as though it would hasten his return.

 

“I really should go before more time passes. I beg pardon, your highness!” He gave a quick, swift little bow for his departure and turned to leave, expecting no further interaction.

“You’re welcome to do as you see fit in terms of wrapping things up with Irving – You do seem to like rushing around, after all-” The extra commentary was casual, amused. The tone was enough to stop Robin’s prancing feet for a moment to listen for the rest. “But the missing books from the other day have already been paid off in full.”  
  
Paid off? There had been so many. How would Chrom even know of such a thing?  
  
His head turned, mouth impolitely gaping somewhat, though the attractive crinkle at the corner of his smiling eyes was all Robin could seem to notice of the prince’s expression.  
  
“Ricken informed me yesterday he made a promise to you. Of course, some of the books could not be found from the list you’d left in the cart, but the rest were paid for, along with a sizeable donation for the trouble.”

 

Despite the lax manner the prince seemed to be conveying, Robin could only feel his humiliation mounting. Certainly even more so as Frederick made to cough as if to emphasize the large favor he’d been dealt.  
  
“I tasked one of my shepherds with delivering it …though considering who I chose, she might not have arrived with it yet. She wasn’t terribly keen on being a ‘carrier pigeon’ as she so delicately put it.”

  
With another shift of clinking armor shined to a gloss, Frederick finally weighed in more of his deadpanned remarks.  
  
“If it was ‘delicacy’ you were looking for, milord, then indeed Sully was a poor choice.” He sniffed.  
  
Were these two always like this? A rigid and unbending officer with cool analyses and an amicable prince with a knack for picking up misfits.

 

“Regardless,” Chrom began again, “I felt it was the least our group could offer in return for you coming to Ricken’s rescue. That was with or without your acceptance to my offer…though I would be lying to imply I didn’t at least consider using the books as leverage to persuade you after seeing your skills in the field. I’m told you have many more as well.”  
  
His blue eyes were shining with something, though once more, Robin was unsure if the feeling was one where he should feel honor or wariness.  
  
“I’d like to see them soon in our barracks. We have plenty of skilled members that could give even hardened soldiers a run for their money.”

Chrom was speaking to him with casual complacency, yet the fluffy headed amnesiac was still stuck on the concept that his debt of overdue books had been paid in full with generosity to spare. His gape could not be lessened even as Frederick shifted noticeably beside his lord and gave another indicative clearing of his throat.

“You,” Robin started lamely, his expression incredulous. “You paid off all the books?” It sounded so utterly ridiculous and unbelievable. This _was_ the prince of Ylisse, wasn’t it? And he had footed the bill of a librarian in good nature with little thought. Chrom met his dubious stare with a lift of his brows and humor in his eyes.

“I did just say that, didn’t I?”

“You-…” Robin began again, his words catching as he battled with making sense of it and believing it to be true. Honestly, it was a simple gesture considering the circumstances, but Robin believed his insignificance as an individual had been so abruptly uprooted and disposed of, he was having incredible difficulty processing the lengths at which one would go to return a favor. Lucky for him, Chrom only appeared amused by the exchange and upon Robin’s perpetual stare of disbelief, he was nodding slowly to affirm once and for all that yes, his debts were no more.

Be it due to some sort of possession of his body, or simply that he could not be entirely convinced, Robin was pivoting and eagerly making his way back to the library to ascertain for himself if it were true. He was hastily weaving through the crowd, forgetting the detail that the reluctant deliverer had yet to arrive.

It was a bit of a trek back, lengths of cobblestone and splitting pathways to venture, but as though the gods thought it a splendid little trick, the moment he was rounding the side street that opened to the stone steps that connected the beautiful archway of the library to the city streets, Robin was coming to face a large and well maintained carriage. It was tethered to a horse that was properly strapped and outfitted for a work animal and reminded him painfully of the atrocious, dilapidated buggy he had been graced with those few days prior. Beside it were a few individuals obviously associated with the ordeal, one of which was a woman with fiery hair cropped short and fluffy, plump lips pursed in visible frustration as she surveyed the surroundings impatiently; tapping her finger against her hip where her palms were astutely planted. Although a tastefully hung curtain did well to conceal, for the most part, what was inside the cart, Robin could see just barely through a sliver of an opening that the stack which resided within was far greater than the one he’d gathered himself; twice if not three times the quantity in size.

It was only when the sharp gaze of the redheaded knight snapped his way did Robin realize his jaw had been slack, and he immediately snapped it shut with a clack of bone. Her expression changed to one of recognition and Robin was stiffening at the particularly aggressive furrow of her brows.

“There you are!” She barked, and Robin endeavored to produce intelligible words without allowing his voice to squeak. Instead, another was responding in his stead and he was tossing his gaze to the owner of the voice beside him.

“Sorry for the delay, Sully, I hope you weren’t waiting too long?” Chrom didn’t appear terribly perturbed at his tardiness and stood comfortably beside his new recruit.

“Any amount of time tugging around a wagon of books is too long.” Robin could feel his spine stiffening at the crass manner in which she seemed to be addressing her prince, and yet the royal was unruffled as ever. Had he no inkling that Chrom felt like a special case, he might mistake this as customary behavior in this country. And yet Chrom’s authority didn’t feel diminished any. “You said you were going to be here before me.”   
  
There was a slight flicker of apology in his mannerisms, though truly her task did not seem daunting enough to warrant such an aggressive distaste for it.  
  
“I was actually here not so long ago attempting to recruit Robin, but his outright refusal made it a bit awkward to hang around, so Frederick and I took a walk.” He explained while color crept back into the shorter, young man’s cheeks. Her eyes didn’t even shift target, the space between her brows creasing heavily as she scowled more so, though it somehow didn’t take away from the natural beauty and strength she exuded, unconventional as it seemed. Rightfully, Robin got the feeling she could snap him in half, especially with a glimpse of the muscle that wrapped around her exposed upper arm.

 

“What the hell, Chrom?!” Her teeth gnashed down on the syllables. “I’ve been squatting with this damn thing because you asked me to and then you just take a-” She interrupted herself, not even batting a lash at the curl of distaste on Frederick’s mouth at her entirely informal address of his lord. But now her eyes were on Robin and he could feel ice creeping up his spine to be pinned under that hard stare. “Wait…you said no?!”  
  
His lips popped open, gagging on his own words as he’d been caught by surprise yet again. It was Chrom who redirected her prickling attentions once more.  
  
“Initially, yes.” His shoulders rose in a light shrug. “But he had a recent change of heart.”  
  
Robin expected more irritation from her, maybe even chewing out for causing this whole ordeal she had been roped into, but instead she seemed slightly diffused, wary even as she narrowed her eyes and leaned back, staring skeptically through her lashes.  
  
“Woah. You seriously blackmailed him with this stack of paper?”

It was Chrom’s turn to go rigid, a cringe settling on his lips and the librarian almost felt tickled a moment that Chrom’s easy going nature about the situation was starting to look a little more human.  
  
“No – of course not. I was joking when I said that was what the books were for. He changed his mind of his own accord.”

Whether Sully believed him or not remained elusive, one of her sharp brows quirking up accusatorily while her lips pursed; indicating a vivid skepticism. Her manner of crossing her arms certainly did not help abate Chrom’s rigidity, the prince easily catching her insinuation and hastily coming to his own defense as Frederick, oddly enough, remained stoically at attention beside him. Perhaps it was a silent form of punishment for disregarding his counsel. It wasn’t necessarily his duty as a great knight of the royal family to get into an argument on Chrom’s behalf.

What an odd group of people.

“I swear on my honor, I did _not_ entice Robin to join with money.”  It was almost humorous how valiantly Chrom spoke, as though it were a public hearing and Sully’s judgement was the deciding factor of some grand dishonorable incident.

Sully sniffed before finally turning her gaze to Robin, cocking her head and raising both brows this time.

“Well? Did you say yes on your own?”

Unspoken as it was, there was a communication between the two of them and Robin, for reasons inexplicable, felt it safe to play along as he bit his lower lip and inconspicuously swung his eyes off to the side, mimicking reluctance to admit the truth. “Well…” He started, but even before Chrom could react, Sully was letting out bells of laughter, effeminate and pleasantly genuine before following up with a contrastingly boyish cuff of her knuckles against Robin’s shoulder.

“I like this kid! Nice pickings, Captain.” She commended with a grin, having dropped the guise of disbelief as whatever pleasure the exchange had granted her had momentarily displaced the frustration of her earlier task. She was returning to the cart, giving brief directives to those accompanying her while Robin gingerly rubbed the newly smarting spot on his arm. She had a hard punch.

“If you can befriend Sully, you’ll fit in quite well. Though I can’t say I’m willing for it to be at my expense every time.” Even as he said it, Robin could detect intrigue in Chrom’s voice. He lifted his brown gaze to blue and although he felt it not entirely necessary, he  _had_ taken many luxuries. He tipped his head, offering an apologetic smile.

“My apologies, your highness. I’ll do well to remember that.”

Again, Chrom was offering a smile of his own that accompanied a huff of amusement before he moved past him to aid Sully and personally deliver the literary cargo to Irving. As he moved, he spoke over his shoulder, his easy-going presence back in place as he did so.

“Please, Chrom is fine.”

Robin opened his mouth to respond, to perhaps refuse his kind offer as he was not so significant to break such honorifics; he’d taken leaps enough as it were that day alone.

“Oh, and Robin,” Chrom was cutting him off before he could utter a word, turning around to regard the librarian fully; donning a broad-shouldered stance and a simper befitting of the royalty he was. His head inclined lightly, and Robin felt something shift within him.

“Welcome to the Shepherds.”

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for continuing to read our story! I hope you all continue to enjoy it, please leave feedback in the comments, we love to hear what you have to say!


	5. Immersion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Please, Chrom is fine.”_
> 
> _Robin opened his mouth to respond, to perhaps refuse his kind offer as he was not so significant to break such honorifics; he’d taken leaps enough as it were that day alone._
> 
> _“Oh, and Robin,” Chrom was cutting him off before he could utter a word, turning around to regard the librarian fully; donning a broad-shouldered stance and a simper befitting of the royalty he was. His head inclined lightly, and Robin felt something shift within him._
> 
> _“Welcome to the Shepherds.”_

The dry gravel crunched underfoot as Chrom made his way across the bailey, the open yard spanning before him as a handful of soldiers snapped to attention at their posts. They guarded the arching doorways of towers and the great hall, all with remaining fortifications of his late father’s reign, though Emmeryn had made modifications in the last decade to lessen the imposing feel to most of them. Gardens certainly helped, though the earth before the keep had always been rather barren. It made for a better training ground than a real courtyard, thus it drew Chrom and his men frequently.

 

His travels now, as much as he would have liked them to be for the purpose of further honing his skills, were strictly political. Taken momentarily from his more hands on duties as commander, the position he most preferred if he were to be honest, he was biding some time between council meetings, tasked with organizing information about their forces for the potential outreach to Regna Ferox. It was likely he would be a diplomat and a presence of good will while the two countries relied on their somewhat untouched peace agreement in a time of rising conflict with Plegia. No doubt Ylisse was taking the brunt of it, though the rugged, northern nation had experienced conflict of its own with the rising bloodlust of Plegia’s current ruler, King Gangrel.

 

A deep sigh passed through his lips as he strode over the dry earth, but it did little to touch his proper posture. Years of drilling etiquette into his bones had shaped his stance, even while at rest. Politics was something Chrom could do without. He didn’t have patience for the more delicate matters, nor the roundabout way councilmen and nobles sugar coated their speech or skirted their intentions. Emmeryn had nothing but boundless patience and it was truly her guidance and leadership that kept him from saying too much or too little during their long-winded discussions.

 

“Milord – Lord Chrom.” The familiar voice of his closest retainer drew his attention, feet pausing in expectation of being met where he stood, as was normal of their relationship. Generally, it was business as usual on Frederick’s lips, though one look at his lord’s cinched brows and the opening statement he intended to deliver was delayed. “Are you here for a breath of air?”

 

A soft scoff and Chrom’s shoulders lowered, as did his defenses in having conversation he knew he could be at ease with.

“Yes, however short the opportunity is. I was just on my way to retrieve an inventory report as an excuse to stretch my legs.”

The flicker across Frederick’s expression was telling enough. He wanted to offer to fulfill the task himself, though he was sharp enough to consider Chrom’s need for exercise before pressing. It quirked the corner of the prince’s mouth before he spoke.

“Did you need something of me?”

He anticipated the expressionless professionalism to settle back over the knight’s features, but was surprised to find it did not. It was almost unsettling.

“I just met with Lady Phila myself to collect inventory from the Pegasus knights and she shared information from the border.”

He had Chrom’s full attention now and the grim edge to his gaze only seemed to thicken, though it was not without it’s own hint of intrigue. “It may simply be gossip to stir the pot of discontent, but I felt it pertinent enough to share.”

“Go on.” Chrom prompted with only a soft nod.

With a light bow of his head at his permission to speak freely, Frederick squared his stance as a wrinkle formed just between his dark brows.

“It seems a particularly high ranked religious figure in Plegia has gone missing; One of their…apostles of sorts. Perhaps even more significant…though the details remain mysterious.”

Chrom’s brows guttered, mulling over the information with an otherwise stoic expression. After a moment had passed, he raised blue eyes to his retainer and spoke evenly.

“How long have these rumors been going around? Did Phila happen to mention?”

Frederick shook his head.

“She did not. However, she did speculate that if word had reached the border, being far removed from the inner city of Plegia’s palace, it is not only possible to have been going on for some time but is also likely to be true.”

Sniffing, Chrom did well to maintain an air of indifference, although if anyone knew well the prince’s opinions of their neighbors, it was Frederick. They had plenty to deal with rebuilding the ruins of their own country after the late King had left it in shambles. Though Emmeryn had performed nigh miraculous reparations, there was always work to be done. Chrom had little patience for the meddlesome, and that was putting it lightly.

Frederick eyed his prince carefully, taking the time to reflect before speaking.

“Milord, if I may, you don’t appear terribly concerned.”

Lifting his brows, Chrom responded.

“Should I be? The disappearance of their people has nothing to do with us or our country. Lest they use it as a flimsy means to bring dispute unto our lands, I’m likely to remain unconcerned.” His jaw settled, the muscles flexing in his neck before he was swiping a gloved hand along his chin in a somewhat disconcerted manner.  

“To be honest, there’s a part of me that’s pleased to hear we’ve less trouble on the horizon with an official missing from their ranks…but I know Em would be displeased to hear that. It’s a cruel way of thinking…” his voice was deep, trailing off and as though he’d heard the manner of speech many times before, Frederick was picking up where the silence had encased their conversation.

“You’re not your father, milord. And considering the situation surrounding our newest recruit, there is living proof of it.” With a respect that could not be torn from the brunette even in death, he was bowing his head deeply as though it were a customary reaction to make after giving praise.

Chrom chuckled, familiar with Frederick’s rather domestic tendencies to reassure him in times of uncertainty.

“At ease, Frederick. Sometimes a little critical self reflection is good.” He reached out, extending an arm to amicably drop a hand atop the shoulder piece of Frederick’s armor. “But I thank you.” Frederick nodded once and the topic was no more. The blue eyed prince took in a large breath, letting it exhale through his nostrils as he surveyed his surroundings once more before cupping a palm over the gilded hilt of his sword.

“Our newest recruit…” he began, and perhaps in a childishly playful manner, Chrom snuck a look out of the corner of his eye to see if Frederick visibly flinched. He had not been shy about his opinion and Chrom knew his vassal was not so quick to turn a new leaf. He admired that about the steadfast knight, although it at times came back to bite him.

“Have you any new opinions?” Chrom tried for a broad and circumspect approach, taking a step and initiating his journey toward morning duties; Frederick obediently falling in step just behind him.

“To be frank once again, not much aside from a musing that he seems far different off the field than on it. Despite his skill, he seems…fairly scrawny. I think he gave our other Shepherds the impression he might flee if one spoke too forcefully.” The deadpanned displeasure hanging from his words almost evoked another laugh from the prince.

“Yes, he certainly is a completely different person when he is engaged in battle…or in conversation with myself, it seems.” The add on thought seemed to only strike Chrom then. The Great Knight seemed less pleased than before, if possible. His armor seemed to clank louder in protest.

“A detail I have not overlooked myself. I am still not going to rule out the very present possibility of him trying to butter up royalty before employing their kindness as weakness.” Frederick finished with an air of matter-of-factness that drew Chrom’s blue eyes back to him, sparking with a bit of familiar challenge as they passed through the dim threshold into one of the keep’s many storage rooms.

“Are you suggesting your Lord is naïve?” Frederick didn’t rise to the obvious bait, though it was certain that he would have coming from the lips of another.

“Not at all, milord. I simply know that your kindness can often cloud your concern for your own safety. A remarkable quality, but one ill suited for a commander if not kept in check.” And with that, he was once again finished saying his piece, allowing himself to fall one step back in a show of submissive respect to the one he’d sworn fealty to.

“And that’s precisely why I keep you by my side, Frederick. You worry enough for the whole kingdom. Even if it is over a reedy librarian.” Another easy smile before the two swung right back into business matters, keeping their talk strictly on task for the rest of the walk.

-

It was early dawn.

Fingers clutched into the off-white, somewhat frayed blanket. Robin’s eyes remained fixated on the tall ceiling, though saw nothing as his ears were currently being assaulted by the loud, sawing sound coming from the slumbering pile of a man one bed over from his own. Though it was arguably only snoring, it could have the strength to splinter wood were it amplified any more.

 

It only added to the completely surreal sensation of the whole situation he currently found himself in. The muscled pile to his right he knew was named Vaike. How could he not know after the man self addressed himself over twenty times in a span of a single evening? Plus, he was hardly a special case when it came to the others he had been more or less introduced to, if an introduction was at all what he could call any of such interactions.

 

He’d seen a young man, still partially clad in armor, rush across the floor with an armful of pastries, offering Robin only a short wave in acknowledgement. Another he’d witnessed, a young girl with flaxen hair done up in messy pigtails, appeared to be adding something that was entirely inedible to a pot of boiling food. She even gave a casual whistle when caught doing so, scooting away with hands behind her back and the fistful of whatever it was, disposing of it quickly.

 

He wondered with a sliver of apprehensive bewilderment if she was the same servant he’d seen healing in the infirmary.

A few of the members were a bit more reasonable in nature, but one female in particular had turned her nose up, quite literally, upon their first introduction. Apparently his dress wasn’t quite up to snuff. Not that he could disagree, having been forced to wear much of the same with his lack of both funds and consistent employment. Still, he was in far better shape than he had been upon arriving to the capitol.

All the grandiose sensations of glory and purpose he’d experienced had been abruptly eviscerated upon his terribly informal introduction to the Shepherds. Perhaps it had simply been odd timing… for every individual he met consecutively, all unanimously suffering an off day, but the possibility was still there; so he told himself.  

Though as he lay swathed in bedclothes and effectively sandwiched between his fellow Shepherd bedmates, it was almost comically juxtaposed to his original expectations. Perhaps Chrom was just that good at charming susceptible men and women eager and willing to please their country. Robin could not provide a viable excuse for himself, either, though it was more likely that the group of misfits had gathered and Chrom had not the heart to cast any able-bodied volunteer away.

Vaike was giving another hardy snore, Robin grimacing somewhat as he peered over at him wearily. It had been a relatively sleepless night, though Robin had to admit, he wasn’t unfamiliar with those even without a ballad of snuffling .

Dragging his hands blearily down his face, he could find no validating reason to remain in bed and thus hoisted himself upright; pausing a moment in drowsiness before stretching his arms above himself with a long and throaty groan. It took everything within him not to collapse backwards onto the pallet and coil back into a fitful slumber. If nothing else, Vaike’s one-man cacophony implored his self-discipline.

What was nice indeed, however, was a fresh set of clothes that had been laid out for him to change into while what he’d been adorning was in repair. The shirt was pulled together with laces at the back of the neck and the crook of the elbows, sporting a pattern of buttons at his collarbone and fit particularly well, though the adjustable qualities attributed to such a feature. The pants were not so accommodating, large in some places and tighter in others. He wouldn’t claim to have a feminine figure but he certainly did not possess the body of a robust soldier. Robin swallowed his mild aversion to the implications and simply tugged them up a bit higher with a wriggle here and there so his backside could properly situate.

A broad leather band encircled his waist though left a gap at his sides that suggested a thicker man would fill it out nicely. He was not the meager size of Ricken nor the slender body of Sumia, so perhaps in a feeble attempt to reassure himself, his logical approach yielded the conclusion that the Shepherds assuredly were scrapped for variety. If nothing else, they had left his vambraces which were no trouble to slip into.

A pair of boots completed the simple ensemble, Robin tapping his toes into place and peering about himself curiously before giving a huff and heading out the door.

A glow of sunlight encased him as he emerged, already perking his enervated spirit, and with another breath, larger this time, Robin began to walk. Three steps in, however, it occurred to him that he had no destination to walk _to._ Arguably, the mess hall was a good start, perhaps the studies or the training hall, but ultimately, he had no other concise purpose to pursue.

What exactly did a Shepherd _do…?_

A distant clatter from inside the mess hall caught his attention, not enough to startle him from his skins, as had been happening frequently in the past weeks, but enough to draw his eyes. The noise was accompanied by a worrying voice, one that sounded at least somewhat familiar.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot-“

Curiosity brought his feet to the door’s opening, finding now he at least had somewhat of a purpose, even if it was only perhaps to assist with whatever small accident had just occurred. A half armored figure was hunched over a few hammered pots that had dropped to the ground. His eyes also noted some potatoes amongst the fallen.

“Is everything alright?” The wound woman was jumping, piping up with a small yelp and hand over her heart. He recognized the panicked gaze and fair features immediately as Sumia.

“Goodness—Yes – Ah, you shocked me.” With an apologetic bow of his head, Robin took that as his cue to move forward with assistance even as the rouge of her cheeks deepened. “You really don’t need to – It was my fault for carrying too much at once…”

His answer was given as he stooped to pluck up one of the far flung potatoes from underneath a wooden bench, making his way slowly forward as he gathered them in his arms as effectively as possible.

“It’s alright. Happens to all of us, I’m sure.” With the slightly crestfallen look on her face, he began to wonder then if it was the right choice in words. The first stack of pots were laid on the nearest table before she was returning to gather more, chewing her lower lip all the while

“It happens with me far more often than I’d like. “

Judging by the small, faded bruises he could see of what skin was exposed, he could gather it was likely a well-known fact in the Shepherd’s garrison. They didn’t look battle inflicted; at least not the bulk of them. It left him in the awkward position of wanting to console this near stranger, though not wanting to patronize her with disingenuous comforts. Luckily for him, she changed the subject before he needed to, raising soft grey eyes to blink in his direction.

“You’re up awfully early. You didn’t have trouble sleeping your first night here, did you?”

For a moment, Robin contemplated passivity, wanting not to burden someone new to him with trifling matters. Instead, however, he felt further compelled to be honest; there were things he would be keeping from them for a time already, best not elongate the list.

“If I’m to be honest, yes. It was somewhat of a whirlwind and I’m not sure what to make of it.” He spoke casually as he continued to gather the spuds, careful not to knock them and recreate a mess. There was a comfortable atmosphere about them and it felt relatively easy to speak candidly.

To his delight, she was laughing lightly, something he far preferred over pity and had been aiming for in light of such.

“Yes, I can see that. Your introduction wasn’t exactly conventional.” She mused, offering him an empathetic smile. Robin was giving a light shrug to his shoulders, cocking his head as he didn’t lift his eyes to her just yet as he responded.

“I’m not sure, I’m more inclined to think it was Vaike’s remarkable capacity for volume while unconscious that kept me up, but hey, who could be certain.”

His obvious attempts for somewhat snarky humor were not met with laughter or any notable amusement, and with an apprehension he’d not considered, as perhaps he had read their chemistry entirely wrong, he was lifting inquisitive ambers up. He started as he was met with an expression of astonishment that left him particularly confused.

“I’m… I’m sorry, did I say something strange…?” He endeavored to come across contemplative as opposed to nervous. He felt a little bad, though, when Sumia happened to realize she was gaping and straightened her posture so rapidly, a few potatoes popped from her arms and rolled away. She was quick to busy herself with picking them back up, though cleared her throat as she composed herself to respond.

“No- no, I’m sorry, I just am surprised… I didn’t expect you to be comfortable enough for a joke.”

Robin quirked his brows a bit, amused that Sumia had found that odd yet pleased at her forthright statement. There were surely more surprising things about himself that he had little intention to share right away, but he supposed his inclination to sarcasm was one secret he could spare if it reassured his new comrades that he was more than an anomaly of anxiety and aptitude.

They continued to tidy in contented silence, returning the potatoes to the counter after effectively gathering them all. It was then that Sumia broke the silence, her voice soft and her eyes turned down.

“I overheard the captain speaking with some of the healers. I don’t mean to pry, but…is it true? …Have you no memory at all?”

Robin had not anticipated the question and found himself without a voice, stunned to stillness. He was the one gaping now, trying to formulate a response of any kind but hardly managed more than a stammer.

“May I inquire as to why the two of you are awake at this hour and clattering about the kitchen?”

Both Sumia and Robin whipped their heads to the voice of interruption, neither having heard entrance of anyone. Being caught off guard appeared to be a theme of the morning and Robin wasn’t sure his heart could handle it.

The delicate figure in the doorway wore an expression a bit jarring; the severe draw of her brows clashing with her soft, slight roundness. As feet padded almost soundlessly against the stone flooring, her dressing gown cinched and billowed elegantly around her ankles, keeping her chemise tastefully covered, though the trailing ribbons still denoted her social status. He certainly hadn’t forgotten his first run-in with this woman, despite her blonde curls being pinned back, the hair now hanging more relaxed over her shoulder.

“Maribelle – what are you doing in the barracks??” Sumia’s surprised response caught the edges of Robin’s attention, though it wrinkled the bridge of the young woman’s nose.

“I’m a Shepherd too, am I not? I do occasionally spend my time here fulfilling my duties.” The tone suggested ‘occasional’ was a sharp understatement. Still, Robin got the sense her gaze on him made his presence more of a deciding factor for this particular instance. Her following statement solidified it.

“The captain also requested I remain nearby for the sake of our newest member. Although I expressed doubts that a staff can provide much help for lost memory, I’m not about to refuse royal orders.”

So the ill-suited bed-wear was indicative of her normally having much cozier quarters. Considering the rest of the Shepherds seemed to be gathered about here, she had to have some sort of noble status to be exempt, much like the prince.

 

It couldn’t be his sister…could it? He’d heard of there being a third Ylissian descendent, though she was of little likeness to the dark-haired, blue-eyed middle child. She had not been introduced as such, either.

His naturally active thoughts were cut short as Sumia began to layer on the apologies, prompting him to do the same as someone now involved in the morning racket.

“I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you. Sumia and I were just cleaning up a little spill here.” Lashes flickered to him and where he was expecting a sharp rebuke from this woman’s razor tongue, he received only a sort of tired blink, her hand lifting to readjust the tumble of hair.

 

“I didn’t expect much in terms of sleep in this dusty old place. But now that I’m up, I’ll at least lend my assistance in the kitchen.” She floated her way around the wooden tables, plucking up a single potato as she breezed by them.  “I won’t be victim to a terrible bed _and_ a bland breakfast. Not to say that’s a product of your cooking skills, Sumia, dear.”

Despite her polished language and her stiff countenance, she was not shirking duty. Robin could at least appreciate that much about the high-born healer.

 

As it stood, Robin really was no asset to them in terms of their culinary endeavors. Thus, after a particular exchange of words with Maribelle, he politely bid his adieu. It appeared, for the moment, he was spared via Maribelle the daunting task of explaining his memory, or lack thereof, to the incredibly sweet-eyed Sumia. Thank you, Maribelle.

He couldn’t avoid it forever of course, but he wasn’t sure he could weather what would likely be Sumia’s charming yet bumbling attempts to reassure him when there was little to make of it in the first place.

Stepping out from the kitchen, one of the few assembling of utilities that had likely been erected when soldiers were plentiful and such facilities were necessary, Robin was met with a waft of crisp morning air. Before him was another stone corridor adorning vaulted arches and what would have been a series of large glass apertures, yet were never installed and thus exposed the architecture to the elements in full. It was not so disadvantageous currently however, as the weather was promising and the cool winds of late spring carried the scent of new bloom.

The arcade lead somewhere, a series of connected buildings for the now skeleton force of the royal family’s voluntary militia, and Robin felt it almost illicit to be given the freedom to roam them as he pleased. He walked unhurriedly, inspecting every detail curiously before he took pause mid step.

Perched atop a stone sill where a window would have been, sitting as innocuously as it could was a sleek black bird. It took Robin a moment to determine that it was, indeed, living and not a well crafted doll or an illusion of his fatigued mind.

He stared at it, it stared back. Robin cocked his head, it parroted him once more. Somewhat bewildered but mostly amused, Robin sniffed and took a daring step toward it. It simply shifted itself, sifting  its wings to tuck them more comfortably against its body before a low croon emerged as if in greeting. It was, apparently, entirely unperturbed by Robin’s presence. It was only when Robin took another step forward and crouched to see at eye level did the bird extend its wings and take off; leaving in a small burst of inky feathers, a spring molting.

Robin watched it until he could no longer, charmed by the surreality of the moment however brief. It was movement in his peripherals that drew his eyes back down from being tossed skyward and a vaguely familiar face was regarding him and offering a friendly wave from across a stretch of courtyard grass. Hesitantly, Robin lifted his hand to return the greeting before quickly darting amber eyes over his shoulder to make sure, a bit belated, that it wasn’t someone behind him they were waving to.

Turning back, they were jogging their way over and Robin was calling upon the brief interaction they’d had with one another to procure a name as quickly as he was able.

“Good morning!” He chirped once at a reasonable distance, his face of a kind countenance with what seemed like a perpetual glaze of slight grogginess. “Remember me?”

Well he certainly wasn’t muddying the water any.

Robin swallowed, his back straightening under the expectant gaze of the man only separated from him by a thin stone wall. The memory struck him and he perked up as he responded.

“Stahl, right?” The grin in response was telling enough, Robin relieved and Stahl abated.

“You’re out of armor, so it took me a moment.” Robin offered as a viable excuse for the pause in recalling the young soldier’s name. If he were to be honest, if was more the mussed olive hair that tipped him off, looking almost in the same state of disarray as when he was fully suited up. Now his raiment was far more relaxed; a loosely laced doublet covering the body of his linen undershirt. There didn’t appear to really be any color-coding or visible coat of arms between the armored soldiers, not like with most royal forces.  Or at least, the royal forces Robin knew of, which was none aside from this encounter.

“Ah, yeah, I suppose all the hulking metal can change the shape of a person.” His tone was amicable and his body language much more relaxed than that of the prince’s great knight, or the fiery redhead cavalier he’d met at the foot of the library’s wide steps. With a shift of his weight forward, his arms came to rest comfortably folded over the barely chest-high wall, leaving still just the slightest gap in height, despite Robin being more than a step up inside the cover of the arcade. He was under no illusion that he was a tall, but it was a false sense of security having someone even temporarily on the same level as he.

 

“I’m not normally up quite this early unless Frederick is making the morning rounds, but I actually figured you might want a tour of the place. Maybe someone who could just give you a quick rundown. With the way things are right now, it’s probably not likely you’ll get a ton of attention until this bandit hoopla gets back under control.”

 

This Stahl was a very generous presence. Being only a matter of minutes formally meeting him, it was already easy to tell what kind of role he played on a personal level; laidback, but attentive to the group. He’d likely get along well with him.

“Only if you want, of course. I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing.”

 

Robin’s head shook with the same casual dismissal, feeling his muscles relax from the initial upright of meeting a new face.

“I’d gladly take you up on that if you’re offering. And just to get my bases covered, my name’s Robin, if you hadn’t heard about who it was decorated in the prince’s vomit already.” The immediate press of the man’s lips inward was telling of the laughter he meant to stifle. Another point scored in his mental tally for reading a future comrade. Or making friends? Perhaps that was the normal way to address the encounter.

 

“Man, if only I’d been there to actually see it.” His lips pulled at the corners, teeth biting down to truly keep from expressing too much enjoyment at the misfortune of others. “Not that I like seeing that kinda stomach turning stuff, but the little humanizing moments are nice to see from our commander, y’know? Makes you feel a little better knowing they’re just as fallible as the rest of us.”

 

Robin chuckled lightly, though his expression soured a moment later, his eyes peering off to the side with obvious distaste.

 

“Yes, though I’d have rather not been a direct participant. Prince or no, I’m not keen on wearing regurgitated cow blood as ornamentation.” Robin’s nose wrinkled but it appeared Stahl had interpreted the good natured humor and let out a boisterous laugh in response.

 

“ _That’s_ what it was?! That’s nasty!” His statement trailed with chuckles and Robin couldn’t maintain his expression of distaste no matter how teasing it was. The corners of his mouth pulled up as he was roped into light laughter as well.

 

All in all, it was a good start to a morning that had followed a comparatively unfavorable night.

 

After being toted about the grounds and through some parts of the castle that Robin _still_ felt he shouldn’t be nearly as authorized to enter as he apparently was, he found Stahl was amicable company with a particular penchant for food. He wasn’t exactly keen on the logistics of swordplay but had history in tonics; his brother the head of an apothecary.

 

It struck the white haired bookworm as odd that Stahl had pointedly avoided the topic of his memory when it was clear that most members of the Shepherds had discussed i,t fervently curious, amongst themselves. Robin entertained the thought that perhaps it wasn’t as widely whispered about the barracks as he’d originally assumed, but the motley crew that was the Shepherds gave no other indication that they were inclined to secrecy. Quite the opposite, actually, they seemed to delight in gossip as long as it didn’t contain political scandal or a breach of privacy with their prince.

 

It was only nearing the end of their interaction did Robin come to find that Stahl had avoided it purposefully, wanting simply to get to know Robin slightly with as little pretense a possible. Small as the gesture was, Robin was profoundly grateful.

 

They parted ways unsurprisingly when breakfast was served and the dark haired swordsman waved his goodbye, making off toward the mess hall faster than Robin thought him capable.

 

He supposed it wouldn’t be odd for him also to be present for the morning meal, though he had his own reservations about subjecting himself to the unyielding company of a royal infantry; or as close to royal as was possible for the Halidom.

 

With only slight hesitation, he made his way over.

 

\--

 

The mess hall was well populated.

 

However, seeing them all gathered now, it was much easier to grasp just how meager the forces really were. A small part of himself wanted to believe that perhaps quite a few were simply not present, but as he slinked his way in, watching the soldiers all sipping tea from hammered tin mugs and tearing bread with their teeth, he knew there was no large amount missing.  There was no order or hierarchy in the seating arrangement that he could tell at first glance. The head of the  central table was left empty, presumably for a captain or other ranking officer, but everyone else was scattered, some clumped together in small cliques and everyone in different stages of waking.

 

He spotted Maribelle sitting, pressed and polished as ever, by one of the only windows to the hall while another young, blonde girl accompanied her, looking terribly sleepy and in a bit more disarray. Curiously, this young woman had a small circlet around her head, denoting some sort of noble status. He recognized the messy pigtails from another sighting, one far more questionable, but still had no name for her yet.

 

He wondered briefly why Maribelle of all people was associated with someone Robin had distinctly witnessed sabotaging, potentially, a perfectly good pot of stew.

 

Stahl was sitting beside a small mountain of bread and cakes, his cheeks ballooned and both hands full of more he intended to consume while the red headed, scowling cavalier - Sully he was pretty sure – was eating with about equivalent manners just across from him. Her lips were moving as she was talking around a greasy sausage in her mouth, the wrinkle in her forehead suggesting it was some sort griping session. He wouldn’t intervene.

 

There were a few others he was sure he hadn’t met; a woman with glasses and a large mage’s hat laid beside her, one hand holding a book and the other a slice of an apple, though every small gesture was made with seemingly calculated precision. Further to one side, occupying one of the long wooden tables was a throng of women in full armor, exuding far more order than the group he’d seen in the Shepherd’s quarters. At the head of that table was a woman with a sharp chin and silvery hair, twisted into a tight, neat bun, not speaking as she and her company ate without interaction with the others, intentional or not. Those must have been the additional forces Stahl had mentioned; the elite force sworn to protect the exalt.

 

“Checkin’ out the Pegasus Knight Squadron, huh?? They sure are a bunch of lookers~” A meaty arm had dropped hard over his shoulders, wrapping under his chin and tugging him close to an unclothed torso. After only a day, he could already pinpoint Vaike by the sound of his voice, the detail of him usually being in a state of relative undress a nuanced indicator. Robin coughed, squinting as he tried to offer an amicable smile, though it was certainly hard to do so with a limb partially choking off his airways.

 

“Is – is that who they are? I was wondering if – they were part of the Shepherds or not.” He ignored the comment about their appearance, feeling it was a trivial component to the value of a solider. That didn’t make his statement untrue, however. They were a very attractive group of women of varying shapes and sizes.

 

“Aw, nahh.” Robin was released from the fighter’s grip as Vaike stood back to scuff fingers under his nose. “Sometimes they do trainin’ and eat with us, but nothin’ much else. They got a real strict teacher, kinda like ol’ Frederick, but she sticks around the exalt, mostly.” It was an interesting tidbit of information, despite Vaike’s casual and clunky way of relaying it. He clearly hadn’t come from nobility as a good amount of the Shepherds had.

 

“That’s Phila at the end, there. She’s good, but probably not as great as Teach here. Heard she trained Sumia ‘fore she joined us. Me, I trained myself! Ain’t nothin’ better than relyin’ on yer own axe!”

 

Robin’s brows lifted, his mouth forming an ‘o’; the only polite gesture he knew how to manage at Vaike’s raucous self-assurance. He made a valiant attempt to shift his attention to something else that would be understandably distracting and found he had, in fact, managed to occupy his gaze with a gentleman entering the room with nose turned up and long hair nearly polished to a gloss.

Robin’s brows furrowed as the newcomer stood still, surveying the spectacle meditatively with his arms tucked behind him and his ascot appropriately plumed so it emulated the curvature of his back the appropriate amount. He looked like nobility, but something about him did not couple with the nobility he’d come across thus far, though he certainly didn’t give off the kind of disposition of royalty, either.

Vaike snorted beside him as it appeared he, too, took notice.

“He’s sure fluffy.” He remarked with mild distaste. Robin cocked his brown gaze to Vaike, graciously indifferent to the remark as the two men were, indeed, total opposites. What Vaike lacked in clothing, the sharp individual generously made up for. He was polished from head to toe, adorning fine and expensive clothing tailored specifically for him, from what Robin could tell, and the manner of observation he made, peering down the straight bridge of his nose, indicated he was used to more dignified company.

The cluster of boisterous bodies paid him scant attention, thus Robin decided to dwell on it no further, only catching sight of a few people nudging their seated neighbor with their elbow and gesturing to him. It wasn’t until Robin decided to take his seat and settle into it that he seemed to realize the reason most were not staring at the man was because they were, in fact, staring at _him_.

Robin took pause, having only gingerly plucked up a cloth to lay over himself in a show of good manners and lifted his eyes to find several on him in speculation. They did not shy away when he took notice, finding they were not antagonistic in their scrutiny, but it certainly wasn’t the inviting type of look, either.

Robin was opening his mouth, but before he could utter much of anything, the doors were opening to dispense the prince and his dutiful knight behind him, creating an impressive hush over the previously cacophonous hall.

“Good morning, everyone.” He said, his voice deep and commanding, though it was with a casual air that others regarded him; something the blue eyed royal appeared grateful for, despite Frederick’s expression of mild distaste.

Chrom nodded at a few people in particular before he was coming to stand at the head of the table with obvious business to attend to which, in turn, solidified proper attention from his followers. It was obvious to see that despite the wild assortment of the mess hall, they were unyielding in their loyalty.

“I have a few new members to introduce to you all, one of which some of you have already met.”

He drew up from where he’d leaned against the long table, stepping back to stand close to the unidentified gentleman who had apparently been waiting patiently for his introduction. The man was stepping forward with a glimmer of pride.

“This is Virion. He is an excellent archer who approached me at a political banquet, wishing to aid our cause in maintaining peace.”

It looked as though Virion intended to say something, stepping forward with a flourish, though Chrom didn’t appear keen to dilly on trivial matters as those who wished to know Virion better could simply ask him. He was, instead, landing his gaze on Robin who, quite the opposite of Virion, hoped to remain a simple face among the crowd and announced with little fanfare.

“Our second is Robin. He has displayed incredible skill with both sword and tome, and has a sharp mind for quick problem solving. For those curious, he is indeed the one who quelled the street fight of four days ago. I was the one who approached him and asked him to join after Ricken had brought him to my attention, though most of you know of that.” Chrom cleared his throat and the Shepherds hampered their mild snickers at the recollection of the hex their prince had suffered.

“Regardless, be respectful to our new recruits. And I don’t want people picking Robin’s brain about the other day.” His appraising look was met with varied expressions of innocence and understanding and almost immediately, Robin knew that Chrom’s orders were going to be fitfully disobeyed.

He had, unwittingly, stolen Virion’s desired limelight and the prince’s mild but obvious praise did not win him any favors of privacy or solitude. For the time being, however, he was content to quickly stuff his face and perhaps disappear before others were full of food and ready to begin prodding him.  

His wishing was in vain. As soon as the Prince had finished his introduction, leaving the Pegasus Knights the opportunity to march out with their own commander, the Shepherds gathered there had all but dragged Robin over to the center of the table. The attention left him feeling a bit guilty for Virion, who was still idling at the front with perfect poise, but out of the corner of his eyes, he could already see Maribelle approaching, having politely excused herself from the table with the other blonde girl.  Upon further inspection, the blonde left behind had actually already excused herself as well, making her casual way right up to the prince’s side where she jabbed a finger into the center of his chest. He may not have been able to see her face, but he could tell from Chrom’s expression that he was mildly apologetic for something and quite undisturbed by the extremely bold physical gesture. Frederick was likely having an aneurism, Robin thought, turning to see if he could catch a glimpse of what would probably be a very red faced retainer.

 

Nothing.

 

There wasn’t a flicker on his face other than relaxed observation of the two. A second longer and suddenly he and Robin were making uncomfortable eye contact. Best to just leave the matters of royalty alone for now. He couldn’t get much other than a glimpse anyhow before Sully was snapping fingers in front of his face.

 

“Oy, anyone home? Too early in the morning for a magic wielder?”

 

“Sully…” Stahl had actually stopped his endless consumption of breakfast pastries to pay Robin sympathy, but that was the extent of his intervention. “He’s had a whirlwind of the last few days. How about cutting the guy some slack? He’s a swordsman too, you know.”

 

Her form shifted back and away, brows wrinkled, lip curled while her eyes travelled shamelessly up and down his form. It might have been enough to make him flush were he not wise to an insult when he saw one, intentional or not.

 

“Really? Don’t look like he can swing a sword. ‘Bout as scrawny as any other mage I’ve seen.” With that, she pushed a plate of sausages even closer to him, the same she had just been eating from with her hands. “Better bulk up if you don’t wanna get stuck on the end of a spear.”

 

His brown eyes flicked to the food, taking that as an excuse to continue stuffing his cheeks and avoiding much vocal interaction from his end.

 

“I’ll take that advice to heart.” He knew it would work best to just be casual with this group. As his instincts led him, he was rewarded by a snicker from her before another cut in; Vaike, unsurprisingly.

 

“Gotta go with Sully on that one. Ya don’t look like you do much heavy liftin’. But Chrom seems to think that big old brain of yers is somethin’, hah!!” A heavy hand clapped his back and he was nearly inhaling the sausage he’d just put in his mouth, unattractively drooling a bit as he had tried to avoid choking.

 

“So you gonna answer my question or what? Where ya from?” Sully again, though her eyes were already back down on her own food, taking a sip of strong tea from her tin cup. Unease crept into his bones, relishing in the moments he was given to wipe his mouth and gather his thoughts, clearing his throat as his brain whirred for the right response.

 

So they _didn’t_ all know, then.

 

“Well, I uh…I don’t actually remember.”

 

Some responded with mild shock, some did not respond at all. Sully herself rolled her gaze up from the brim of her cup, red eyebrows cinching once more and full lips pursing.

 

“Huh? Whaddya mean?”

 

“Alright-“ All heads lifted as the clear, authoritative voice of their Prince was suddenly just above them. Honestly, it sounded the way a father might gently scold a child for asking for sweets incessantly rather than a commander to his company. Even less like a Prince to his people. “Let’s cool it on the questions for a single morning, shall we? He’s scarce had a chance to settle in without being prodded like cattle with an iron.”

 

Robin was all too aware of the proximity of the Prince, knowing the hand that had planted beside him was not just to ward off question. His arm was well carved with muscle and his hand was sizeable and splayed against the wood. Robin took a draft of water.

 

There was more business to be had with him. He swallowed down his food and quickly tried to wipe up the best he could manage, still sporting the plain garb he’d been provided with while the rest was laundered and mended.

 

“Robin, I’d like to see you on the training grounds when you’ve had your fill from breakfast.”

 

 _So soon_? A few faces seemed to be reflecting his same thoughts. Chrom sure wasn’t going to waste time putting him to use, was he? It was only fair in exchange for the bountiful food and free sleeping quarters he’d already been gifted, he supposed.

 

“Sully, you as well.”

 

The rugged woman raised her head, she herself having not paused in consumption of breakfast out of any gesture of politeness or authority while the prince was present. Not that she had done so in their first encounter, either.

 

“Huh? Without the others?”

 

“You’ll be helping with Robin’s demonstration. Virion’s was already settled this morning.”

 

 _Demonstration_. He didn’t like the way that was worded. No one else flinched at the odd way of putting it. Was this some sort of initiation?

 

“Why not Miriel?” It wasn’t outright defiance in her tone, but still, she received a shake of the Prince’s head, dark blue hair swaying where it fell just between his eyes, short of the bridge of his nose.

 

“If Ricken was impressed, then I have little to worry about with his magical capabilities. I’m more interested to see just how keen he is with a blade for myself. So you’ll be his sparring partner.”

 

Sully’s ruby brow quirked at the statement, and when she cocked a rather impish smile in his direction, Robin wondered if birds wading in a body of water felt as he did when they made eye contact with a crocodile.

-

It wasn’t the most impartial of circumstances, if Robin was allowed to make comment. Besides which included the conditions of his memory, he had been equipped with a practice sword while Sully, subsequently, was provided a spear. It occurred to the silver haired amnesiac that such was, exasperatingly, the point.

Putting him at a disadvantage fashioned similar feelings of frustration and flattery within him, understanding they desired he prove himself while also having preconceived him worthy of being dealt an opponent with the upper hand.

The environment of the training ground did little to offer him any gain though it was, he noted, quite well maintained. The architecture was stunning, expensive even from a glance and indicated that it was a coveted piece of the turret. He had read that the late King was a warmonger and poured his resources into the army. The training ground was stark evidence of that, if the history books had not delivered their own clarity of the man.

It was a large circular depression, providing no corner to back your opponent into and no leverage to use as high ground. Half the surrounding walls were raked like an amphitheater, allowing onlookers to view the spectacle from above while the other half comprised a well crafted storage unit for different weaponry and armor. It had since been emptied and only scant remains were left as most of the remaining artillery had been reconstituted to the barracks.

He flexed his fingers, gripping the hilt and feeling it fit well into the palm of his hand, proportionately balanced and lightweight. It was a decent weapon to practice with, but that was under the notion that he was well trained and aware of how to use it. From his experience, his body personified a man trained in combat while his brain didn’t appear to reach that threshold unless under threat of fatality.

That wasn’t a point he wanted to get to, and with the eyes of the prince and his knight surveying the two of them, he wasn’t sure what kind of nerves might play a part in it.

Performance anxiety, for all his desire to avoid the limelight and duck out of intrusive conversations, was not creating any ripple of unease within him as he had thought it might. Sully was across the way from him, her posture admirably straight as she inspected the integrity of her spear and tested its weight with a few thrusts and swipes. It did not take the small demonstration for him to perceive her talent.

Sully was comprised of hard, honed muscle born of consistent and diligent practice with her weapon. She was no stranger to fights and was not the disposition of Maribelle or Sumia who, though likely to be fierce in their own ways, were not so intimidating upon first impression.

Better put, their strengths and preferences appeared to lie in other factions where Sully was comfortably stationed in the thick of combat.

She was regarding him then, eyes keen from across the packed earth and all at once, a voice was announcing the commencement of their duel and she was running.

Before he could brace himself properly, she was within range and making a powerful strike to his side. His block was last minute, whipping the blade up to prevent full contact from the spear but it still landed hard, pulling him from his feet and sending him stumbling.

He was not allowed a moment to recover as she was upon him once again, brandishing her weapon in a flurry of jabs that, should one land, would not surprise him if it broke bone. Parrying and dodging was taking an incredible amount of concentration, and just when he thought he had managed to predict, she pulled back, spun the spear behind her with expert dexterity, and lashed it out on the other side to strike him in the soft, exposed expanse of his ribcage. It took him a moment to catch his breath, a bright pain pulsing from where she had connected, though he could not dwell on it; Sully was closing in without restraint.

It was a brief moment of reflection, incredulity threatening hysteria, that Robin entertained the concept that, perhaps they had never held him in high esteem and had intended from the beginning to see him fail. They simply wished to determine how long it would be before he would.

His thoughts were wandering, his eyes flicking to the commander as he mused briefly what was going through his mind, if he intended to stop the match. Sully was clearly not set to give him an inch, likely feeling her pride a bit tarnished at being matched up with someone at a disadvantage, suggesting either she thrash an ill-equipped man, or be beaten by one.

 

He couldn’t win like this. Not against her brute strength and the long range of her weapon. He hated to admit it, but if they were going to put him in a position to lose, he was going to have to be more clever than he was strong.

 

But perhaps that was the entire point of the exercise? Surely the odds wouldn’t be evenly stacked on the battlefield. He gave one last glance toward the unflinching expression of their leader and let his mind go racing, spitting out scenarios and numbers as he seemed to key into once gripped by danger.

 

Something in him was familiar with this, even gifted with it.

 

He brought his sword up high, using both arms as he wound his body up for a strike straight down, expression twisted with frustration. All her jabs had been medium to low, focused on exploiting the weaker and more sensitive areas, so it seemed logical her own defense would be weak to higher strikes.

 

She took the bait.

With a slight tug of her lips, she swung the lance to catch him in the ribs with the flat side of her blade as to not do fatal damage. Even a weapon that was not live steel could cave in bone and flesh with enough force. Robin had only managed to brace for it just enough to not be completely knocked flat, though he still let out a guttural hiss of pain upon impact. But this was the opening he’d been aiming for.

 

As soon as her weapon made contact, he lowered his elbow to trap the weapon against his side, the fat end of the lance caught against his elbow. He could see she was already drawing her feet back to square her stance and make her balance solid once more, but he wouldn’t let this opening be squandered so easily. Throwing every ounce of weight he had backward, he slammed his back into the dust, pulling her right off her feet with him as she let out a bark of surprise, lance still wrapped in his arm. Their bodies were close, barely inches from being flush chest to chest. With a free hand still clutching for dear life the hilt of his sword, he twisted to bring it right to the back of her neck, tip angled so it could plunge right down her spine, underneath the armor plating she adorned, were he actually going for a kill.

 

Knowing the kind of position she had just been put in, she shot him an acidic look, one fueled by the heat of the moment, as well as her distaste for his tricks.  Even with a win secured, he shuddered at her stare.

 

“Tch. Break some bones for the final kill? Tricky, ain’tcha?” It was a grumble, but as someone who dedicated themselves to training and improvement, she took her loss by releasing her weapon, hands raising up to expose empty palms, half hearted as it was.

 

“I’m out.” She called up to the spectators above, slowly pushing herself up onto her knees as Robin still remained down in the dirt, panting and reeling somewhat. The pain of her strikes was beginning to hit him all at once.

 

“I uh….think I might of cracked something….” It came out in a soft breath, afraid to disturb much of anything as he laid there, though Sully’s brows had arched high.

 

“Shit, for real? Ha! You really wanted that win. I can admire that.” She didn’t reach down to assist him, but it was not out of poor sportsmanship. He could hear distantly Chrom had called for someone, that someone now making their way across the ring, staff in hand and looking particularly agitated.

 

“I don’t understand why you have to go so hard in training. Geez. We get enough wounded in real fights as it is.”

 

It was the blonde who had been sitting with Maribelle. If she had been watching the whole time, he hadn’t noticed, but he was certainly relieved to see someone with healing capabilities approaching.

 

Robin watched with quiet inquisition as she approached and situated herself before him as any cleric would when tending a minor wound. She was fastidious with her work, her concentration honed on the area of hurt and Robin, not willing to disturb her, simply watched.

 

She held a sceptre, twin golden designs like strange wings or perhaps the curl of a wave creating a crescent shaped enclosure around a sphere that was faceted to one end of the long staff. It was opal in color and, when she was pouring her strength into the vessel, it began to emulate a soft, light blue glow; so light in color it looked the color of clouds when partially stained with a baby blue sky.

 

Warmth permeated the section of his ribs that Sully had struck, a numbing sensation following and, shortly after, the strange and almost ticklish sensation of nerves tingling; as though stimulated by an oddly comfortable electrical pulse. It made him curious the kind of mechanisms that went into healing spells and how, exactly, they took effect on the body. It also left him wondering how badly he'd actually allowed himself to get hurt. It was over shortly, as it wasn't an open wound and he was still soundly conscious and not on the cusp of death, luckily. The girl with golden hair in an array of sprightly curls was letting out a breath of exertion when it was done.

 

She was smiling at him a second later, her concentration no longer diverted to his wound as she had healed it, and Robin was meeting her expression with a similar one.

 

"Thank you." He said, giving a gracious tip of his head. She, in turn, was planting a small fist to her hip in what appeared to be a posture of pride veiled by her inclination to modesty, despite her confidence.

 

"Sure thing! It wasn't that bad so it wasn't hard to do." He couldn't tell if it was a statement to reassure him or to redirect credit from her skill elsewhere. After a brief moment assessing her expression, he deduced that it was probably both.

 

"I don't think we've formally met! The name is Lissa!" She chirped and in a somewhat boyish manner, was holding her hand out to be shaken; Sully snorting behind her though her lips were turned up in an easy half grin. Out of Robin's peripherals, he could see the great knight at Chrom's side shifting. Robin was extending his own hand and took up her far more slender one in a firm grip, which she seemed approving of, and gave it a squeeze. She had, upon another look, very similar eyes to the prince.

 

"Robin, though I'm sure you already knew that." He teased, shrugging his other shoulder. She was laughing prettily, obviously amused as she cocked her head, one of her pigtails bobbing with the action.

 

"I would sure hope so! My brother recruited you, after all." She said it with feigned innocence, as though she were unaware the impact of her words as their hands pulled apart. It was only when Robin was stiffening, as if bracing for an attack and regarding her in surprise did he catch the glint of mischief in her eyes; the girl stepping backward and turning to jog back to Chrom's side.

 

"The princess?!" He balked as she ran and Sully was giving a huff of amusement.

 

"The royal family don't exactly act royal, do they. Not these two knuckleheads, anyway. No worries, kid, you're in good company." And she was giving a punch to his shoulder in camaraderie that he would have been grateful for, were it not leaving a residual ache in its absence.

 

He was rubbing it when Chrom was approaching, having stepped out onto the training field with Lissa returned to him and Frederick loyally in tow.

 

"That was an impressive tactic, especially against one of our best spear fighters." Chrom spoke, earning a tilt of the chin from Sully in a minor gesture of flattery at his praise. Robin, not so well equipped to weather any amount of such attention just yet, was clearing his throat and awkwardly closing his mouth for lack of anything intelligent to respond with. He felt, regardless, that Chrom had more to say.

 

He was right.

 

Chrom was leveling him with a look that was similar to that of the one he'd had in the mess hall. A look that said he had more he wanted to see; more he expected to see than was shown.

 

"You do know, however, were this a real fight, you'd be dead."

 

Robin, properly sobered, was straightening himself to return Chrom's gaze as steadily as he could manage.

 

"I am aware. It was the first thing I thought to do in my circumstance when up against someone with an advantage over me."

 

"You consider Sully to have the advantage from the start, then?" It didn't sound like a challenge, more like a test of knowledge and Robin, reading it easily, answered.

 

"She is a well trained soldier. From the way she holds a spear and her well muscled physique, it's easy to see she trains frequently. Pitting a spear against a sword is only fair when the swordsman is physically stronger, or faster which I am neither." He paused to lift his arms, as though to assess them for the first time, then looked all over himself and furrowed his brows a bit; his lip puckered as he tacked on another thought he apparently only just had. "Or, at least, I _could_ be, but I have not the recollection to say if I am or am not, so my body doesn't follow through...yet, anyway."  

 

When he lifted topaz eyes to azure, he was met with an expression of approval. Chrom, from what he'd heard, seemed pleased to have heard it.

 

"A solid assessment. Whether or not you can recall, you obviously know your ways around weapons, their advantages, and their disadvantages." He was making to circle around to face Robin, lifting his arm as he swept around so both Lissa and Frederick would not follow. When the prince stopped and turned to face Robin fully, he was roughly ten to twelve paces away and was standing close to where Sully stood; the distance an opponent would stand. Robin's body began to sing with tension, something alive and electrical beginning to simmer just beneath the surface of his skin as he began to catch on, quickly, to what Chrom intended.

 

"So why don't we level the playing field." Chrom quirked a brow, his mouth suggesting a smile and looking very similar to his younger sister from moments earlier; when she had said 'my brother recruited you'.

 

Sully was voicing what Robin had already put together, and then some.

 

" _You_ want to spar? You call that leveling the playing field?" She said it with absolutely no restraint on the incredulity in her voice and ever loyal to his prince's well being, Frederick was speaking up on accordance with Sully, shockingly, though it was likely the brunette was far more focused on the wellbeing of his prince. The spear knight was obviously more concerned with Robin being thrown around the training field, bless her.

 

"Milord, this isn't a wise decision, involving yourself in such trivial affairs." Frederick was doing well to clip his words as the displeasure was palpable even without a voice applied to it. Chrom was unperturbed, regarding the knight with an easy expression as he quirked blue brows.

 

"And why not? I'd hardly consider it trivial, seeing as these are the men and women who are going to defend our country. Plus, I think it's in good practice to perform the tasks I appoint my soldiers every now and again." He was lightly throwing back his cape with a jerk of his shoulder and in the same motion, withdrew a practice blade from his belt; indicating from the very beginning that he had intended this to be the outcome. "Besides," he continued, and turned his steady gaze to Robin, "how could I call myself a good commander if I always allowed everyone to fight in my stead?"

 

Robin supposed he could have admired the logic of his new commander, did it not put him in such a precarious position. This was royal blood he was faced with. Spill any, and he could easily be hung. Perform poorly, and perhaps suffer more injury, or even ejection from the Shepherds. Neither choice seemed appealing, but something within him was assuring that there was no way he could even hope to achieve the first on the list. Not with the way Chrom was so confidently squared before him.

 

A sword in his hand just _looked_ natural, like an extension of himself.

Robin was sure he looked like a small boy holding a branch in comparison.

 

“I realize swordplay may not be your most boasted skill among the many you have tucked away, but the odds are certainly a bit more fair if we’re fighting sword against sword, no?” There was just the slightest air of challenge in the commander’s voice and Robin could almost hear his sister rolling her eyes as his feet shifted position in the packed dirt. He couldn’t help but notice she was still holding her staff, looking ready to utilize it once more at a moment’s notice.

If nothing else, he took the challenge as an invitation to speak freely.

“Well, a sword in the hands of a veteran and a sword in the hands of a commoner leaves the odds still a bit skewed.” He cocked his head and quirked a brow. “Thank you, though, for assuming I possess hidden talent.” His teasing words were offered with a somewhat nervous smile, one that was returned with a small chuckle.

 

“Ah, but you could very well be a veteran yourself, couldn’t you? If you haven’t any memories telling you which you might be, I’ll be happy to coax them out of you.” And with that, the prince was upon him; having closed the gap of fifteen feet in what felt like a second’s time. With such confidence exuded, Robin had guessed the prince might be the type to rush first, not that he could do much with the information other than a desperate attempt to dodge.

Their faux blades nicked one another on the down swing, though Chrom easily pivoted his weight to transition from a downward swing into a horizontal swipe, causing them to come to a full blown clash and Robin grunted under the pressure of such a blow. His hands already felt numb.

 

Chrom was _strong_.

This was nothing like the jabs and long sweeps of Sully’s lance. Her stance was solid, powerful, reeking of years of practice in the traditional ways with just a small unconventional flare. Chrom’s style was something else entirely; a unique beast that had the bite of all of the crown prince’s brute strength behind it and the trickiness of a style that was entirely it’s own.

 

Perhaps Chrom had traditional training, but if so, he was ignoring it. That, or he’d absorbed it and crafted it into his own manner of swordplay. It was almost impossible to get a handle on. Perhaps the only saving grace was that he was in fact wielding a practice sword and not the shining blade he’d first seen brandished on the rooftops.

His wrists hurt, his feet scuffing in the dirt as he was being driven straight back, gasping and grunting, as he was only just able to deflect while still receiving glancing blows. It felt like trying to strike down every drop of rain in a hurricane before it hit the ground.

 

Whether it was some sort of embedded pride or simply sheer stubbornness, he did not call to yield, even despite the futility of it all. His thoughts churned endlessly, feeling his limbs ache for a tome in hand, teeth biting down on sudden incantations he was not aware he knew, but for all the knowledge that bubbled up, finding an opening to use it was something else entirely.

 

There was even a point where the blade was wrenched from his grip, tossed into the air where the handle landed in the free, gloved hand of his opponent, but it was simply tossed right back and the rain of blows poured over him yet again.

 

Despite the brutality of the swings, the numbness in his arms and the ache and sting of his newest injuries, Robin couldn’t keep himself from being in complete awe at the fluidity of Chrom’s performance. The balance of his body, the singing of his strikes and the twist of his form as one swing fed into the next. It was a war dance and Chrom had complete mastery of the steps.

 

It was impossible to tell what length of time had passed before the sword was wrenched from his grip once again, this time his body knocked flat against the arena floor, the air wrung from his lungs. Arguably, he was in less pain than he had been after the match with Sully, though his defeat had been so absolute. His throat felt raw and tight and his arms cramped, though the cool, dusty earth was somehow soothing to his adrenaline-flooded body. Mustering the energy to speak was likely impossible, but he was stunned to silence anyway.

 

Murmurings from the spectators could be heard nearby; musings of whether he ‘was dead’ or not casually exchanged. The light above was eclipsed as his opponent now stood above him, seemingly entirely unruffled by the skirmish. Not even his breathing was mildly altered, though there was a look on his face Robin somehow felt was almost familiar. It was not boasting, nor was it apologetic. The exact emotion conveyed couldn’t be pinpointed before the blonde head of his sister popped in beside him, her own brows puckered with concern.

 

“Criminy, Chrom! Why the heck do you have to go so hard in practice!? He just got here, you big idiot! You probably gave him a concussion!”

 

Another light scoff and the prince easily shrugged off her exclamation, his eyes having not left the young man sprawled, breathless on the ground.

 

“You’re overreacting. Look, he’s fine. Just winded.”

A hand extended outward, offered directly to Robin as he remained prostrate, too overwhelmed in the moment to dust himself off just yet. Chrom’s words, for a moment, were like the peel of a bell, clear and echoing far off in the distance.

“Come now; there are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know.” He was smiling. “You fought excellently, Robin.”

It was the scent of grass he noticed first. Then, the curl of a breeze, a hush of wilderness stretched wide; with golden furl and fray of wheat and the freckling of thistles, starflowers, bloodroot. 

And then it was gone, and the dust and stone of the arena eclipsed memory, leaving Robin with the whimsically unfathomable feeling that Chrom had pulled him up from the earth once before.

But that, of course, was impossible.

 

\--

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all once more for stopping in to read our story! We're just starting to get into the thick of it so I hope you all continue to enjoy what we're putting out! We had to get the ball rolling so it's been sort of a slow start but we wanted to really build our world up around what we have planned.
> 
> Also, as a footnote that we're hoping isn't giving too much away, we've had this story planned for two plus years now and recently we have seen a lot of series' actually cover the sort of thematic approach BC and I were hoping to cover in this story. At the time when we thought of it, it was a very new and exciting concept, so we're hoping no one thinks it's something we've stolen or it is something unoriginal. I won't say any more currently but will likely revisit this in later chapters.
> 
> Please leave comments!! We love to hear what you have to say, your thoughts, suggestions, and then some!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ID (Purpose)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6636079) by [Smash Wars fan 3 (Falco276)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falco276/pseuds/Smash%20Wars%20fan%203)




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